


Upward-facing Dog

by SimplyLucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blackmail, Break Up, CCTV, Cersei skinny dipping, F/M, Infidelity, Innuendo, Jealousy, References to A Clash of Kings, Sandor wearing tight yoga pants, Sansa's POV, Skinny Dipping, This is rather light-hearted compared to my other fics, Yoga, Yoga With Adriene inspired some scenes, Yoga poses give most chapters their title, because why not, letting go, mature content, yoga au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in the Lannisters' house, Sansa practices yoga to cope with a frustrating everyday life and a stormy relationship with Joffrey. One day, Sandor Clegane surprises her in the middle of her yoga routine...<br/>"Let's sum up the situation: the Hound doesn’t work today but instead of spending his day off in some creepy bar with creepy customers he’d easily scare away with his glare, he chooses to stay here and to pay me a visit when I’m doing yoga. Great."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Upward-facing Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.  
> The idea came to me when I was in the yoga studio where I practice every week and for some reason, I couldn't help writing this even though it is rather different from the stories I usually write. It's not very serious, it's light-hearted and I hope you'll enjoy it. I don't know yet where this is going, so your suggestions are welcome, although the ones who read my stories know they can't expect a lot of fluff...  
> This fic is not beta-read, so if you notice some mistake, please send me a kind message and I'll fix it.

_Escape mechanism_. That’s what her sister Arya would have called it if she was there. Head down as she put her hair in a bun, Sansa sighed. Of course Arya would have reacted differently if she was dating someone like Joffrey who watched her comings and goings and basically prevented her from seeing her friends. Arya would have taken off quickly. Or maybe she would have stayed and tested her boxing skills on Joff. Imagining her sister punching him then pumping her fist in the air while Joff was bent over in agony, Sansa snorted a laugh, then slowly shook her head.  She was nothing like her younger sister and when she was alone, she didn’t try to punch an invisible enemy in the guts. She practiced yoga because it was her way to cope with the situation and to forget, just for a moment, how lonely she felt, inside her golden cage.

Once she wore a pair of yoga tights and her favorite crop T-shirt to hide her sports bra, her last fight with Joffrey - and there had been lots of these, lately - was but a distant memory. What followed was like a ritual: like every day she got out of her bedroom carrying her yoga mat and her laptop and sashayed to the solarium. With its solid oak floor and its picture windows, the room was perfect to practice yoga, although it was close to Cersei’s room. Once she pushed the door closed, she exhaled deeply and placed her laptop on a table. _YouTube. Yoga Routines._

There were videos she enjoyed so much she knew them almost by heart and anticipated every move. If she closed her eyes and only focused on the soothing voice of the yoga teacher, she could almost forget Joffrey made a scene whenever she went out and she could imagine herself in a regular yoga studio, amongst other people who couldn’t start their day without a sun salutation.

She rolled out her yoga mat, started the video and quickly came back on the center of her mat. The blond lady whose online yoga classes Sansa enjoyed so much was already standing with her hands joined in prayer.

“Welcome, everyone. Today we’re going to focus on your spine with different yoga poses that help remove the tension…”

God knew Sansa needed to get rid of the tension. Without even noticing it, she nodded. The yoga routine started with the teacher bending over to stretch her back then coming back up, several times. Sansa followed suit, carefully glancing at the screen from time to time more out of habit than anything because she knew exactly what was next.

“... and step back into a downward-facing dog pose…”

Anticipating the teacher’s instructions, she breathed deeply, trying to root her heels in the yoga mat. The muscles behind her legs hurt slightly. _That’s what happens when you wear high heels,_ she admonished herself. _The Achilles tendon shortens and you have to stretch your legs twice more to rectify it._

“Take another deep breath, stay there… Then on the inbreath, rock into plank pose and exhale very slowly.”

All this seemed incredibly familiar now yet the first time she had been to a yoga studio, Sansa had told herself how strange it looked like - she remembered having difficulties to keep a straight face when the teacher had listed the yoga poses with their exotic names and the ten minutes of relaxation had been anything but relaxing as she had a hard time not to laugh. For someone who didn’t know anything about it, yoga sounded and looked crazy; for people who practiced it everyday, yoga was as natural and necessary as fresh air. In Sansa’s case, it offered a derisory, yet essential protection against everything that went wrong in her daily life. Yoga allowed her to let go of all the things she couldn’t control. After practicing, she often felt like the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions inside her had disappeared.

After the plank pose, she lied flat on the stomach, breathed in the faint plastic smell of the yoga mat then, transferring her weight on her arms and wrists, she rose, arching her spine and looking to the ceiling.

“... Open your chest for the upward-facing dog… Breathe deeply.”

Sansa mentally pictured what was next: plank pose, down dog… Until the door opened and closed behind an intruder. _If it’s Joffrey, I’m not sure I can take it…_ She squeezed her eyes tight, wishing she could buy time before facing her boyfriend; when she opened them again, the Hound, the Lannisters’ head of security was standing in front of her, smirking, behind the black curtain of his hair.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her tone hesitated between annoyance and carefulness - because the Hound was not somebody you wanted to cross. Solidly built and taller than anyone she had met - apart from the Hound’s own brother who, thanks God, seldom visited the Lannisters - the Hound looked like he could break someone in half. _Maybe he already did it. Maybe he once broke someone in half,_ she mused.

“I heard someone calling a dog,” he rasped. “Am I not supposed to come in, when I hear my name?”

Sansa sighed. _That same old song._ “Dog is not your name.” _Even if Joffrey calls you Dog when he's being a douchebag._

A mirthless laugh was the only answer he saw fit to give Sansa. Poised as ever, the blond lady performed a plow pose and kept giving instructions even if there was no one to listen to her now. Sansa stood up, then walked to her laptop to pause the video. Once the blond teacher had frozen, her legs up in the air, Sansa turned to the intruder and folded her arms. This way the Hound couldn’t miss he had ruined her yoga routine, could he?

“What do you want?” she asked, irritation making her talk a bit too fast this time.

Deep down, she had an idea of what he might want. More than once, she had caught him staring at her - when she wore this backless dress for Joffrey’s birthday party or by the swimming pool. It should have made her skin crawl. Except it didn’t. The older men gravitating toward the Lannisters and looking a bit too intently at her - like Meryn Trant or Petyr Baelish - often disgusted her but the Hound defied all logic; his stare burnt, made her feel _strange_ and sometimes scared her but never did it make her feel uncomfortable.

Unreadable, he gazed at her before growling: “Told you I heard my name. What is it you were doing?”

The answer was so obvious Sansa made a huge effort not to roll her eyes. “I was practicing yoga… No need to pretend,” she added, sighing. “Joffrey told you to keep an eye on me. I don’t even know why I asked you what you wanted-”

“I’m not working today,” he cut her off.

 _Interesting._ She cleared her throat, wondering what he wanted her to do with this information. How could someone stay in this house although they were off-duty? It was a mystery for her. _Let's sum up the situation: the Hound doesn’t work today but instead of spending his day off in some creepy bar with creepy customers he’d easily scare away with his glare, he chooses to stay here and to pay me a visit when I’m doing yoga. Great._

Sansa must have involuntarily made a face, because he chuckled. “So…” he trailed off, “why watch these videos and contort yourself on a plastic mat? Does this bullshit do you good?”

“It does,” she answered, cut to the quick. “It really helps feeling better and calm tensions. You should give a try.”

The Hound’s gray eyes opened widely and he burst out laughing.


	2. Through the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... what now? Intimidated, she straightened her back and opening her chest like her yoga teacher had taught her but the heart beat way too fast. After they spent long seconds staring stonily at each other through the window, cold anger came back. Two can play that game. You want to watch? I’ll give you something worth watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot for reading and commenting on the first chapter! I really appreciate your interest for this fic and your support. This story will probably be longer than I first thought, thanks to all the ideas you gave me.  
> I also changed the rating, just in case...  
> More info on this fic and on the yoga poses I refer to on my tumblr: asimplylucia.  
> Once more, this fic wasn’t edited, so if your find a mistake, please tell me and I’ll fix it.

It seemed like the Hound’s laughter wouldn’t stop. First tossing his head back, he soon doubled over, unable to regain his seriousness. In the end, he placed his big hands on his thighs as if the weight of his upper body was too much  then he slid them up to his hips to stand up straight. Feeling she was about to lose her temper, Sansa tried to focus on his uncommonly large hands and she followed their journey until the Hound rose to his full height.

There was a short silence, then a belated chuckle filled the room as he glanced at her; despite her frustration, because he obviously didn’t take her seriously and mocked yoga, Sansa was surprised to see him smiling. She didn’t know the Hound could look mischievous. She didn’t know there was something beyond his angry, disillusioned mask.

“You have a strong sense of humor, I give you that.” His words inflected at some point, betraying his hilarity.

Stone-faced, Sansa held his gaze.

“Advising me to try yoga! As if…” he trailed off, suddenly looking for his words.

Sansa snorted. “As if what? Does it mean yoga is so harmful it could damage your... manliness if you ever tried it?”

“What do you know about manliness? Come on, you’re dating Joffrey!”

Coming from the man who worked for the Lannisters and protected Joffrey, the remark could have shocked her, but she was too overwhelmed by anger to raise it.

“What do you know about yoga?” she retorted, hitting the high note. Her question left him speechless. Smug and sarcastic a second before, he suddenly lost his smile and his eyes narrowed. Her cheeks burned. In different circumstances she would have taken fright and run for her life; her stay at the Lannisters’ had taught her to fear the Hound, yet this time she _knew_ nothing bad would happen to her.

“Your prejudices against yoga and the rest… are you ever going to question them? No, you’re not, obviously.” She shook her head with annoyance and exhaled a deep sigh.

“Feeling dramatic, huh?” he teased.

Her hostile silence was the only answer he deserved. Sansa turned so that he could only see her profile and she wasn’t forced to look at him. _Why being so impossible? What did I do to offend him?_

Keeping her eyes on the wooden floor, she heard him clear his throat before mumbling: “I’d better leave you to whatever you were doing.”

 _Yeah, sure. Leave me be._ The door opened then closed and footsteps echoed in the hallway before silence returned. _He must be bored to death to come and bother me for nothing,_ she mused.

Her enthusiasm for the online yoga routine had dissolved during their argument and left only weariness. She spun on her heels, contemplated the screen of her laptop; the yoga teacher still had her legs up in the air in the weirdest position. Did she want to resume her yoga routine with the video? No. Did she still need her fix of yoga? Yes. Maybe improvising something would be nice. The video and the teacher’s instructions were always reassuring, but improvising meant she could watch through the huge window of the solarium and enjoy the gorgeous view, for a change. _Don’t let the Hound dishearten you,_ she told herself. Chin up, she closed the distance between her and her laptop, turned it off and walked back to the yoga mat.

 _Hips. You need to do something about your hips._ She had read somewhere one had to work on hip opening poses to release negative emotions. _A nice swan pose would be perfect…_

After a couple of minutes, she found it easier to focus on what she was doing rather than on the Hound’s unexpected visit. The view helped too. The solarium opened on the garden but as the Lannisters’ mansion had been built on a spur by the ocean, said garden overlooked the beach and the landscape was breathtaking.

 _Seriously, how could this get better?_ she thought, satisfied by the angle formed by her legs and her upper body when she made a spinal twist and delighted by the sight of a seagull in the garden. Her smile vanished as soon as she remembered what awaited her. A three-hour, sleep-inducing class about medieval history with a boring teacher once she’d go back to the campus; on the next day, Joffrey had invited his friends for dinner and she was requested to fake happiness. _How could this get better?_ By having a nice, understanding boyfriend instead of someone who shouted at her when he was displeased. Her shoulders sank. _Come on, focus on the yoga poses instead of whining._

Through the French window, she watched the seagull pecking at things on the ground and waddling to the nearest tree. The sight of the seabird, with its white body and grayish wings, hopping on the gravel, made her smile. All of a sudden the seagull flew off, startled by something Sansa couldn’t see. She sighed. Could it be one of Tommen’s pets? Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers were cute, but they were cats and therefore had a nasty tendency to chase birds…

The window frame prevented her from seeing the intruder who had scared away the seagull, but from where she was, she could see a long shadow on the ground. _It’s not Ser Pounce._ She froze as one more step revealed the Hound’s tall silhouette. _God, he doesn’t even pretend he didn’t notice me._ Smoking a cigarette, he planted himself on the other side of the French window and looked at her intently. _What is he doing?_ With a smirk and a flourish of his hand, he seemed to enjoin her to resume her yoga routine. Out of disapproval for his provocations, she shook her head slowly. _He’s going to walk away and leave me alone, isn’t he?_

Visibly amused, the Hound dragged on his cigarette and stared at her. Sansa couldn’t hear him behind the double glazed window, but after blowing smoke he mouthed _‘Go on’_. He added something she didn’t understand immediately but when he said it again, this time pointing his forefinger and middle finger at his gray eyes before pointing them at her, she guessed it was _‘I’m watching you’_.

Dumbfounded, she resisted the urge to tell him to fuck off. _Never saw a girl on her yoga routine? How pathetic!_ Even if she rolled her eyes, panic seeped in her mind. What if he didn’t go away? The Hound didn’t look like he was ready to leave; steady on his feet, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black jeans, he watched her through the French window, raising his cigarette to his lips from time to time. The mocking gleam in his gray eyes had not disappeared. _I defied him, now he’s defying me._

She held his gaze, then took a deep breath and resumed her yoga session. _Close your eyes, pretend he’s not here. He’s soon going to find this little game very dull so when you’ll open your eyes again, he’ll be gone… Breath in, breath out. Focus on your sensations._

A split second before she opened her eyes, after a series of hip-opening poses such as the half king pigeon, she mentally pictured the French window with the garden and the view on the ocean behind, but without the Hound. She didn’t know if it was what she wanted after all… Sansa’s eyes fluttered open as she exhaled slowly: the Hound was still there, observing her with an unreadable expression on his face. A strange mix of relief and apprehension took hold of her.

 _So... what now?_ Intimidated, she straightened her back and opening her chest like her yoga teacher had taught her but the heart beat way too fast. After they spent long seconds staring stonily at each other through the window, cold anger came back. _Two can play that game. You want to watch? I’ll give you something worth watching._

For some reason, the first poses she thought worth showing him was the warrior poses. She performed all the variations in a row and ended with the humble warrior; with her upper body bent over and her hands clad in her back, arms extended toward the ceiling, she told herself she almost looked like she was bowing to him, waiting for a round of applause.

 _The tree pose now,_ she decided after raising to her full height. The Hound needed to know his presence didn’t prevent her from keeping her balance. Hands in prayer, she slid her left foot up her leg until it was above her knee. In the meanwhile, she focused on his face, determined to prove him he didn’t frighten her. Even when her hands raised up in the air, not a muscle of her leg moved. Still standing on one leg, she did her most elegant dancer pose. Was it surprise she read on his face? She suddenly felt like being a bit show-off.

 _He’s heard of weird-looking yoga poses and he mocks them. I’ll prove him yoga is no bullshit._ Sansa had turned the mat so that she wasn’t facing him but he could see her profile: she lied down, bent her knees and rooted her soles to the yoga mat. On an inbreath she lifted her buttocks and lower back from the mat. Then, bringing her hands on both sides of her head, she transferred all the weight on her hands and feet and arched her back for the bridge pose. A perfect arch, showing how flexible she was. A yoga teacher would probably say it was a bit too much and not true to the spirit of the bridge pose, but Sansa didn’t care. The understated decor of the solarium was upside down, blood flooded to her brain and the sensation was exhilarating.

Once she lied down back on the mat, she swiveled her head to see the Hound’s reaction. He was still on the other side of the French window, looking impressed and not even insincere. After nodding his head as if Sansa’s demonstration had convinced him, he mouthed: _‘Open’_.

Sansa jumped on her feet and opened the French window for him. He whistled admiringly as he came in the solarium. “Wow, little bird, that was quite memorable.”

 _Oh really?_ As flattering as his words sounded, Sansa remained wary; she never really knew where she was standing with him. More than once, Sandor Clegane had told her something nice or done something unexpectedly kind. And right after that, when she had tried to thank him or to repay the favor, the Hound’s persona had come back, as mean as ever. She felt like he was about to do or to say something that would make her mad; she just didn’t know what to expect and that was unnerving.

“I owe you an apology,” he went on, shoving his hands in his pockets. Only two feet of space separated them and a faint smell of tobacco emanated from him; it was usually one of the things Sansa didn’t like, but in this case, she didn’t wrinkle her nose. “What you showed is impressive. I bet you worked a lot to master all these… things.”

“These yoga poses are rather easy,” she answered modestly. “Some are far more difficult and I don’t master them yet.”

“Oh.” As he was taller, she had to look up to hold his gaze. A half-smile twisted his lips. The scars on one side of his face were gruesome - _the nightmare of any plastic surgeon,_ Margaery Tyrell said - and on the rare occasions the Hound smiled or laughed some people said they looked even worse. This time though, Sansa found it didn’t bother her either way. He surely intimidated her, but his scars had little to do with it.

“You’re _incredibly_ limber,” he rasped, nodding as if he wanted to emphasize the compliment. He then leaned in to whisper: “Joffrey’s such a lucky guy…”

Mortified, Sansa felt her jaw dropping and her cheeks burning. _How do you dare? I could have insulted him because he laughed at me, I could have ignored him and left when he started observing me from the garden, but I didn’t chicken out. I stayed, I showed him what yoga was like. He was just feasting his eyes on me. He’s no better than the others._

Despite the maelstrom inside her head - or maybe because of it - she was unable to answer. Speechless, she watched him as he laughed again, visibly amused by the look on her face.

In three strides, he was by the door; he already had his hand on the doorknob when she pulled herself together and said: “If you liked what you saw, why don’t you join me the next time?” _My turn to sound provocative._ She expected him to laugh harder or to simply shrug off her suggestion. _Why did I ever ask him?_

The Hound froze, turned around and considered her for a while before replying, enigmatic as ever: “I’ll think about it.”


	3. Unless You Have a Yoga Mat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly she realized how strange and even inappropriate a yoga lesson given to Sandor Clegane would look, from Joffrey’s point of view. It’s completely innocent, yet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting: it really inspired me!
> 
> My sincerest apologies to all the readers who love Margaery Tyrell: she doesn’t play the good girl in this story. Not much yoga in this chapter, but next update will be all about it - and SanSan of course!
> 
> No one edited this update. Let me know, if there are grammar mistakes and such.

_Hey, little bird?_

_Excuse me, how did you get my phone number?_

_Found it in Joffrey’s phone. Did you know he calls his mom twice as much as you?_

_Riveting. What do you want?_

_Still OK for this yoga lesson you promised me?_

Sansa felt her jaw drop. _Is he serious? What should I answer?_ It wasn’t the first time a message had made her fingers hover aimlessly over the screen of her cell phone while she couldn’t make up her mind. _Come on, Sansa. Why should it be different this time?_ She frowned, unable to decide what she should text back. _I should discuss it with someone before answering. Who can I trust?_ The fact she wasn’t able to answer this simple question straight away said it all.

Her phone in hand, Sansa briefly stared into space. Ever since Jeyne Poole was gone, there had been a shortage of true friends around Sansa. Of course, there were other girls gravitating toward Joffrey; Sansa went shopping with them and sometimes they had fun together. She expected more of a friend though: she wanted someone to talk to not just about make-up tutorials and plans for the next summer. Someone who would sometimes disagree with her, call her names when she made a mistake but forgive her in the end. A realization dawned upon her. _I wish Arya was here. Who would have believed it? The Hound - I mean Sandor Clegane - texts me and suddenly I become overemotional._

Sighing, she glanced again at the screen of her cell phone and reread Sandor’s text. _‘Still OK for this yoga lesson you promised me?’_ Sansa rolled her eyes. _I never promised anything,_ she mentally groused. _Maybe that’s what I should remind him, that I never made any promise and don’t owe him a favor…_ She started typing a bit too forcefully, then stopped and erased her answer. Why was she so angry? Why did she react so strongly to a text? _Something is not right with me, tonight..._

Her phone vibrated again, announcing another text.

_Little bird? Are you still here?_

Head bouncing against the headboard with frustration, Sansa exhaled.

_I’m busy these days so I don’t know when I’ll be free to practice yoga with you. I’ll let you know._

It sounded like one of those lies she made up for Joffrey when she wanted to be alone. Not exactly something you can be proud of. After all, Sandor Clegane wasn’t as bad as everyone pretended he was. _He’s not stupid either. Maybe he’ll read between the lines and understand he’d better not ask me again._ The thought should have reassured her, but it only made her feel bad for him. However, it was already late and she’d better get ready for the party Joffrey and her attended to.

The simple, fluid white dress she had bought during her last shopping spree would be perfect with some accessories and a nice make-up. All she needed now was to decide what kind of hairdo she wanted. _Something romantic. A rolled updo, maybe?_ The pretty girl who stared back at her in the mirror struggled comically with her hair; she looked gorgeous, she even did a good job at faking self-confidence but her smoky eyes expressed none of the cheerfulness one expects from a student getting ready for a party. All of a sudden, Sansa exhaled a deep breath and let her arms fall to her sides. So much for the rolled updo. She took her curling iron, curled her hair loosely, then smoothed it with her fingers. _At least I can recognize myself in the mirror,_ she mused, weighing up her reflection.

* * *

When the Tyrells threw a party, they had this strange habit to claim it was unpretentious and completely improvised even though their guests could tell they didn’t do things by half. The party Margaery Tyrell had organized that night was no exception: despite Margaery’s modesty whenever someone marveled at the way she had transformed her parents’ reception hall so that it looked like a private club, it was obvious she had carefully planned the event and overseen the preparations to the smallest detail. Margaery had once told Sansa entertaining her guests made her very happy and that was why she always prepared parties and dinners with enthusiasm; confessing she spent a lot of energy preparing everything was, according to her, plainly _vulgar_.

The bright green minidress Margaery wore that night certainly drew attention on her. When Sansa arrived with Joffrey, their hostess was surrounded by half a dozen of their common friends who complimented her on the party, on her outfit or on her sophisticated braided hairdo that looked like a crown on her head. Margaery’s smile was so contagious Sansa felt the corners of her mouth involuntarily going up. One of Joffrey’s best friends said something that must have been funny because Margaery started laughing and everyone around her followed suit. If someone knew how to make people feel comfortable, it was Margaery Tyrell. _Maybe I should talk to her about Sandor Clegane and this stupid yoga lesson. She’s a bit older and much more experienced than I am. She’ll know what to do._

“Earth to Sansa!” Joffrey barked all of a sudden. “Are you coming?” Joffrey was in front of her, rolling his eyes because she had stopped in her tracks.

Sansa mumbled apologetically and followed him.

* * *

 

Sequins had always fascinated Sansa and after a couple of drinks - because all she felt allowed to do when accompanying Joffrey somewhere was smile and sip her drink - childish amazement came back. So small yet so perfect, the green sequins sewn on the sleeve of Margaery’s dress shone under the mirror ball… _How is it possible for a tiny thing like a sequin to reflect so much light?_ Sansa felt more and more compelled to talk to Margaery about her unexpected exchange with Sandor Clegane and she would have done it without the slightest hint of hesitation if Elinor Tyrell, one of Margaery’s numerous cousins,  wasn’t monopolizing Margaery’s attention. One had to get in line to talk to Margaery; with her perfect and always trendy hairstyles, it was one of the first things Sansa had noticed about her.

Instead of listening to Elinor’s verbiage, Sansa swept the room. They were sitting in a corner of the reception hall where Margaery had placed deep couches and coffee tables. Most of the guys, including Joffrey were standing by a replica of a bar; behind the counter, a young man hired for the night was making cocktails. One of Joffrey’s friend drained a umpteenth glass in his attempt to keep pace with Meryn Trant who was on his day off but had had the privilege to accompany Joffrey that night. _God, I hope we’ll take a taxi to go back home._

At this point, she was surprised to notice Joffrey glanced toward her from time to time. He didn’t look suspicious like he usually did when he kept a close eye on her, he even smiled. With time she had learned how to recognize cruelty in his eyes and to anticipate his fits of anger or the dirty tricks he sometimes played on her, but that night, there wasn’t a single hint of mockery in his smile. If she wasn’t already jaded about her love story with Joffrey, Sansa would have thought he was falling in love with her again.

Confused, she swiveled her hips to take another sip of the margarita Joffrey had ordered for her; this time she couldn’t ignore the conspiratorial looks Margaery, Elinor and another of Margaery’s cousins exchanged, nor the words Elinor whispered: “I swear it’s you he’s looking at, Marge!”

“Oh, shut up. You’re out of your mind. He’s looking at his girlfriend,” Margaery protested in an undertone.

The realization dawned upon Sansa, sending a pang of jealousy she didn’t expected. She had done everything she could to please her boyfriend - _even pretending I was buddy-buddy with Cersei,_ she bitterly thought - yet he was looking at another girl, and said girl was flattered, to say the least. Even though she shook her head, jabbed Elinor in the side and told her cousin she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, her smile betrayed her thoughts. Margaery was on cloud nine because Joffrey flirted with her and seemingly forgot he already had a girlfriend.

“Sansa darling, stay here!” Margaery begged, reaching out for her. “I’m sure it’s nothing!”

Sansa was already pushing herself from the couch. She didn’t really know what she was about to do, but she knew she couldn’t stay any longer with the girls.

“Nothing?” she repeated with an incredulous look on her face. Her hostess somewhat behaved like she did when people complimented her about her sense of organization: despite all her efforts to throw a party everyone would remember, she kept that falsely modest tone. Suddenly Sansa asked herself if Joffrey’s glances toward Margaery, like the memorable parties she planned, were not the result of long preparations…

“Sit down darling Sansa and listen to me.” Margaery grabbed Sansa’s wrist and gently make her sit on the couch. “I’m _sure_ there’s an explanation.”

“I don’t see what kind of explanation you need! Joffrey is flirting with you-”

Perfectly coordinated, Elinor and Margaery opened their mouth at the same time, with the same horrified expression. The next second, they looked at each other and resumed their one-to-one conversation.

“No, it can’t be!”

“Well, it would explain a thing or two, Marge. No. It would explain a lot of things, actually. Do you remember-”

“Shut up, Elinor. Shut. Up.” Margaery held her head in her hands for a second as if she needed intense concentration - or as if she wanted to check her double dutch braid. “I’m friends with Sansa, what kind of person would I be if I-”

“Sansa, would you say your relationship with Joffrey is… a bit more complicated these days?” Elinor nonetheless went on. “Maybe I’m completely wrong, but it seemed to me…”

 _And to think that I was about to confide in her five minutes ago,_ Sansa mused. _I’m so stupid._ Ignoring her protestation, she stood up and glared at Margaery. The girl pouted but her big brown eyes didn’t express any kind of regret.

“Talk to me, Sansa, please!”

“I’ve got nothing to tell you. Nothing at all. And for your information, I’m not friends with you.”

 _Margaery Tyrell,_ Sansa thought as she strode to the place where Joffrey was talking with his friends. _Most exquisite double dutch braid of the campus. Real bitch._

She planted herself in front of Joffrey, who frowned instantly.

“What the hell do you want?” He immediately got defensive, which made Sansa wonder if he wasn’t feeling a bit ill-at-ease after staring at Margaery Tyrell. _Maybe he expects a scene. Maybe he’s so shameless he doesn’t understand why I could make a scene but he’s just annoyed I’m still here._

“I want to go home, now,” she answered without raising her voice. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of calling her a drama queen. “Don’t worry, you can stay. I don’t want to ruin your time here. I’m going to call a taxi.”

With that, she retrieved her phone from her purse but Joffrey stopped her right away. “Why do you want to go home in the first place?”

Joffrey’s friends had finally noticed her presence and one by one, they turned to them, curious to see where this conversation would go. Sansa swallowed hard; by reflex, she thought of the best lie to explain her sudden urge to back to the Lannisters’ mansion. Her instinct nonetheless told her to quit her old habits and to change tactics.

“I’m bored,” she replied, shrugging. Sounding so indifferent and detached was quite delectable.

“The party didn’t even start for real! Margaery told us there would be-”

“I couldn’t care less. I’m bored and I just want to go to bed. Let me go home, Joff: you won’t even miss my presence.”

Meryn Trant burst out laughing. Flaring his nostrils and shaking slightly his head, Joffrey looked unhappy. “You can’t take a taxi. How would I know you’re not going somewhere else instead of heading home?”

It sounded so ridiculous Sansa snorted.

“I’m going to call someone to come here and take you home.”

“Joff, it’s not necessary-”

“It is.” He walked away hurriedly, his phone sticked to his ear.

Arms crossed about her chest, Sansa waited. Meryn Trant drained another glass before waddling toward her. “You’re bored stiff, I’m bored too, maybe we could have fun together.”

If his innuendo and his lewd smile weren’t enough to sicken her, the reek of alcohol on him was so strong she took a step back. “I really doubt that.”

Joffrey was already coming back, a cruel smile playing about his lips. “Problem solved. The Hound is on his way. He’ll take you back home.”

“Woof!” Meryn Trant commented, before howling with laughter.

* * *

When the black sedan pulled over in front of the Tyrells’ villa, Sansa had been waiting for a couple of minutes outside. She had not been talking to Sandor Clegane since they had exchanged texts about a possible yoga lesson - since she had given him a lame excuse to play for time. As the driver maneuvered, she stood still under the porch, clutching her purse. _What am I going to tell him? This is going to be a long, very long drive to the Lannisters’._

As she still hesitated before going down the front steps, Margaery stormed out of the villa and grabbed her arm. “Joffrey told me you were leaving.” _As if you didn’t see us talking about how I was going to leave this party earlier._ “He said you had one of those awful headaches. Oh darling Sansa, I'm so sorry!” If Joffrey himself made up stories to explain her sudden departure, she didn’t need to lie anymore, did she?

“Someone’s waiting for me,” Sansa said, pointing at the black sedan.

“Hope you’ll soon feel better,” Margaery said with a smile.

“Have fun,” Sansa replied before going down the stairs. _You want Joffrey? Well, he’s all yours._

On wobbling knees, she headed to the sedan. The driver’s door burst open and Sandor Clegane got out, strode around the car and opened the car door for her; as he held the car door Sansa tried to make eye contact with him but he avoided her gaze. His unreadable expression somewhat frightened Sansa who glanced one last time toward Margaery, waving good-bye. The brown-haired girl stood under the porch, hands on her hips, her green minidress glistening under the light of the garden lampposts. She watched her guest’s hesitation while the Hound held the car door and she didn’t miss Sansa’s timid glance at her; however Margaery didn’t wave back.

Suppressing a sigh, Sansa mumbled her thanks to Sandor and got inside the car.

The comfortable seat and the faint humming sound of the engine certainly encouraged her to sit back and relax; in the darkness, the landscape unfolding itself behind the window had little to do with its daytime version. The night softened the contour of the hills and made the hair grass look almost fluffy: everything seemed quiet.

As her companion remained silent, Sansa let her mind wander. The evening had started with a dilemma concerning the yoga lesson she had promised to the Hound - _no,_ she admonished herself, _not promised, mentioned during a silly conversation, and only because he provoked me._ She had asked herself what to do about it and who she could turn to, to get an outside opinion. As it turned out, Margaery Tyrell was not the right person. _Assuming I had told her about Sandor Clegane and this yoga lesson, she would have used this information against me._ Sansa tilted her head back until it was against the headrest; she easily imagined Margaery whispering something in Joffrey’s ear... Suddenly she realized how strange and even inappropriate a yoga lesson given to Sandor Clegane would look, from Joffrey’s point of view. _It’s completely innocent, yet…_

All of a sudden, she turned to Sandor who had not opened his mouth since they had left the Tyrells’ villa. For a split second, she imagined Joffrey with Margaery and she told herself it was probably not the disaster she had thought. She had her answer, finally. Giving a yoga lesson to Sandor would probably infuriate Joffrey but he had done far worse that night, when he had flirted with Margaery. _I’m done trying to please Joffrey. If Sandor wants a yoga lesson, it would be stupid not to give him._

Sandor must have felt her gaze on him because he growled: “So you’re too busy for a yoga lesson, huh? You could at least have the guts to tell me you don’t want to spend more time than necessary with me.”

“Why do you always sound aggressive?”

“Why are you always so bloody polite you can’t even say it when you don’t want to do something?”

Exasperated by his remark, she stayed silent for half a second before retorting: “But I want to do it! I want to give you this yoga lesson.”

A mirthless laugh filled the passenger compartment. “I really doubt that, little bird.” The car made a left as they arrived near the Lannisters’ mansion. “See? We’re almost there: no need to make up stories now. In a short while, you won’t even see my ugly face.”

 _He means it. He really thinks he disgusts me._ A lump in her throat, Sansa kept looking at him as he slowed down in the driveway, waited for the garage door to open itself and pulled over between two other cars. Despite his silence, she could tell the seething rage wasn’t gone: the way he clenched his jaw didn’t augur well for what was next.

He stopped the car, swiveled his head and looked hard on her. “Get out of my sight,” he snapped.

“But I told you-”

“Out!” This time, anger made him shout at her. Under the interior light, his gray eyes had turned black. She swallowed hard, grabbed her purse and got out of the sedan as fast as she could, only stopping once she was inside her room.

* * *

After the tears, after hours spent staring at the red figures on her alarm as if it was a never-ending countdown before the morning, she had gotten out of bed, and taken a shower. Downstairs, she had run into Joffrey - who had behaved as if nothing had happened.

She had taken her car, driven to the campus and welcomed the classes of the day with gratitude: sometimes she had thought her studies were a nice diversion before going back to the Lannisters’ and facing Joffrey again - like yoga. That day, she felt different. _It’s more than that. It’s hard to explain._ In the auditorium, the only competition between the girls was about grades and no one really tried to get the teacher’s attention. When students gossiped - half-heartedly - they exchanged their views about who would be the new head of department but the conversation soon went back to serious matters - _have you finished your essay yet?_

The auditorium, like the Tyrells’ reception hall, sheltered a microcosm with its habits and customs, its rules and its taboos, yet Sansa didn’t feel out of place. When she left the campus during the afternoon, tiredness kicked in because she had hardly slept the night before but she felt more confident.

A brief stop at the sports shop and she drove back to the Lannisters’ mansion, a long, rather cumbersome plastic bag on the passenger seat. Once arrived, she headed to the hallway where the Lannisters’ staff members had their rooms and she placed the bag in front of Sandor’s door. When she glanced at its cylinder-shaped form over her shoulder, she asked herself how he would react, when finding her gift on his doorstep. I _hope it allows us to smoke the peace pipe together._ There were chances he didn’t know what to do with her gift so she had added a note he’d probably decipher with a frown: _“You can’t do yoga unless you have a yoga mat.”_


	4. You Live Dangerously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Close your eyes. We’re alone here and frankly, I don’t see what could happen. Yoga is also about letting yourself go.”
> 
> “I don’t let myself go.” He could have made this sound like a provocation, like the words of a stubborn kid who wanted to draw attention on him, but his tone surprised Sansa and made her feel for him. He’s sincere, she realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it: here’s Sandor’s yoga lesson! I’m by no means an expert on the subject and I mostly practice what we call in France hatha yoga. It’s supposed to be the main or one of the main branches of yoga. I’m just adding this note because what I learned from my yoga teacher inspired the way Sansa and Sandor do yoga in this update - thanks a million to you, Nathalie! If you also practice yoga it might be different from what you experienced, though.  
> Not edited, but written with love: feel free to send me a comment if something needs to be fixed.

Everything was quiet in the hallway; Joffrey’s grandfather Tywin and his mother Cersei had been gone for two days, leaving Tommen in the care of Joffrey and Sansa. As Joffrey had claimed he needed to go to the library and would only come back late that night - instead of playing fair and admitting he wanted to see Margaery - Sansa had had to make sure the boy did his homework after school. She had even spent time with Tommen in the kitchen, making peanut butter sandwiches for him and listening to his questions - _when will Myrcella come back home? what class should I take next semester?_ \- because obviously Tommen had no one else to talk to.

Now that Boros Blount had taken the boy to one of his friends’ house, the place looked deserted and Sandor finally cracked open the door of his room before saying in an undertone: “All clear?”

Sansa chuckled. As he only popped his head through the door, she could only see his gaunt face half-hidden by his dark hair, but his tone and the apprehension she read on his features were priceless. _I’m pretty sure he won’t take this lesson seriously, but at least this is going to be fun._

“All clear,” she replied, suppressing a smile.

Apart from Sansa, Ser Pounce who stretched its fluffy body after a nap, was the only witness when Sandor Clegane left his room and headed to the solarium. Walking barefoot on the floor tiles, he certainly looked different in these old gray sweatpants and this linty T-shirt; his brand new yoga mat clumsily stuck under his arm, he wasn’t anymore the head of security who rebuked Sansa. _This is so unexpected. The Hound, drawing in his claws..._ Then he stopped near her, visibly annoyed by the way she stared at him. “What are you looking at, girl?”

Sansa opened her mouth to say something witty but the words that came out only spread confusion. “Do you wear these as pajamas?” she asked, pointing at his outfit.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “I sleep naked.

Her cheeks turned crimson and she stepped back instantly: “I take your word for it.”

His laugh filled the hallway. With a flourish, he let her lead the way to the solarium. _I should have bought yoga pants for him, in addition to the yoga mat,_ she mused.

The solarium was roomy enough to accommodate half a dozen yogi but Sansa found herself chewing her lip when she had to pick the spot where she would roll out her mat. Should she place herself next to Sandor? Rolling out her mat opposite to him seemed very strange as she considered herself neither an expert nor a teacher. Sandor seemingly perceived her hesitation for he said in an undertone: “You should stand opposite to me, so that I can imitate you and you can correct my mistakes.”

“I’m not your teacher though.”

“Is this a lesson, or not?” he retorted. “If you give me a lesson you should stand there, so that I can see you.” He was pointing at a spot between him and the window.

Sansa gave up. Being under his scrutiny didn’t please her, yet she had to admit his remark made sense. _At least I’m not the one wearing old and worn sweatpants._ With her yoga tights and her long sleeveless T-shirt, she felt comfortable yet elegant compared to her companion. She rolled out her mat, sat cross-legged on it and watched Sandor follow suit. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and placed it on the floor next to him.

“I’m sorry Sandor, but you should turn off your phone for the whole lesson.”

He shook his head. “Can’t do that. I need to be available or else Joffrey will wonder what’s going on.”

Her own fear of getting caught had made her lose sight of the fact that there was only one person who took a bigger risk than her, if someone walked in on them: Sandor.

“That’s right. Let’s hope Joff doesn’t call you.” She straightened her back, and rested her palms on her knees.

“So how does it work?” he asked, placing his hands on his kneecaps to imitate her pose.

“First we warm up joints, we meditate, then we start.” She extended her legs, then bent her right knee and started massaging her toes, the sole of her foot and her ankle. Sandor did the same but glanced at her from time to time with a frown, visibly waiting for instructions.

“OK,” she said. “Once your foot is warmed-up, you take your big toe, like this, and you make circles in the air with the heel of foot.”

Sandor’s panicked look made her smile, but he soon did as she instructed him, although he frowned deeply. “Why are we doing this?”

His question caught her unawares: nobody ever questioned her teacher during the yoga class. “Well, it’s meant to open your hips,” she nevertheless explain. “To help you relax and get supple. And for your information, people don’t ask questions during a yoga lesson, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

His foot still up in the air, Sandor smirked. “Interesting. Nobody told me so far yoga used dictatorial methods but I always suspected this thing was kind of a cult.”

“It’s not!”

Her outraged face made him chuckle. “Sorry, little bird. I should have kept my bloody mouth shut instead of pestering you with my questions.” His gaze softened and he warmed up his left leg without a word.

In the meanwhile, Sansa’s thoughts were racing. _Is he really curious about yoga? Nothing is less certain. He probably doesn’t give a damn about it, but he sounds more like he takes this as an occasion to... talk to me…_ She swallowed hard. Why would a man like him spend time with a girl like her? _Some questions are best avoided,_ she reminded herself.

“Good. Now get back to a cross-legged position and make sure you’re comfortable. Your hands are on your knees. Keep a straight back, lengthen your spine. Now you can close your eyes.”

When Sansa still went to the yoga studio, it was one of the exercises her teacher always suggested to do: a couple of minutes of meditation after warming up and before doing asanas. By reflex, she had closed her eyes when telling Sandor to do so, but she opened them again to make sure his back was straight. Sandor’s eyes were wide open and he stared at her.

 _God, if he watches me because he thinks I can’t see him, this is creepy…_ “Why aren’t your eyes closed?” she asked, probably sounding reproachful.

Undaunted, he shrugged. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can. Just… close your eyes.”

“Is there a stupid rule saying I can’t do this with my eyes open?”

“What’s wrong with you? I only asked you to close your eyes, so that you can focus on your sensations!” She paused, realizing anger was pointless. After letting out a deep sigh, she added: “If there’s a reason why you don’t want to close your eyes, I’d like to know what it is, because from my point of view, it looks like you’re taking the opportunity to watch me when my eyes are closed.”

His gray eyes bore into her and he looked very serious as he explained: “I told you I can’t close my eyes.” Sansa’s raised eyebrows encouraged him to elaborate. “It’s not something I do. You never know what can happen.”

“We’re alone here and frankly, I don’t see what could happen. Yoga is also about letting yourself go.”

“I don’t let myself go.” He could have made this sound like a provocation, like the words of a stubborn kid who wanted to draw attention on him, but his tone surprised Sansa and made her feel for him. _He’s sincere,_ she realized.

What had made him so over suspicious he couldn’t close his eyes? What had changed him so deeply he seemed unable to trust people? Sansa knew little about him and his past. There was this story about his brother burning him on purpose when they were kids Sandor had told her once, when he was drunk. Her unease had been plain to see; for weeks she had avoided to look at Sandor’s scars and now she was ashamed of her reaction.

She remained silent for a few heartbeats before saying: “I guess we can work on it. For now you can keep your eyes open if you prefer.”

After the meditation they resumed with open eyes, Sansa decided to go for a sun salutation. The moment Sandor bent over and tried to touch his toes - something that had always seemed easy for Sansa but which seemed impossible for him, she noticed with a satisfactory feel - his T-shirt slipped down his torso, revealing his muscled back and the scars on it. With his tousled hair and the crumpled fabric of his T-shirt on the top of his back, he must have felt a bit ridiculous because he cursed under his breath. Sansa’s cheeks reddened ; worse still, she suddenly realized she was staring at him silently while he waited for her instructions.

Regaining her composure was not easy but she nonetheless carried on. _Stay_ _focused_. _Don’t_ _make_ _a_ _fool_ _of_ _yourself_. “Bend your knees - slightly. Now place your hands on each side of your feet. Inhale, and push your right leg back as far as possible. Bring your right knee to the floor and look up. Good. Now bring the left foot back into plank.”

Sandor looked a little confused but obviously did his best to follow her instructions; it somehow delighted her to see his efforts.

“... bend your knees to the floor, bend your elbows - like this - to bring your chest to the floor on the exhale. Now you need to reach your hips up towards the sky and arch your back. Great. Inhale, scoop the chest forward, straighten your arms. This is Upward-facing Dog.”

“Ha-ha.”

“It’s just the name of a pose, Sandor. Lift your hips up and back. Breathe out. Press firmly your palms and your feet, let your head hang from the neck.” It was slightly more difficult for her to instruct him with her head upside down; she nonetheless looked up to see how he handled the Downward-facing Dog. Sandor was mirroring her pose and also gazed at her; his T-shirt had once more slipped down his torso.

“Your back should be perfectly straight,” she added.

“Am I doing it correctly?”

She bent her knees to the floor and get back on her feet. “Let me see.” In two strides she was beside him. “Straighten your back. Keep your head hanging…”

From where she stood, Sansa couldn't miss Sandor’s butt; even hidden by the fabric of his old sweating pants, the sight was interesting enough to silence her. _He must be muscled._ She briefly imagined her hand hovering over his butt...

“For how long am I supposed to stay with my arse up in the air ?” he suddenly asked, raising her from her thoughts.

 _Forever,_ she mused, before swallowing hard and answering: “One more breath and it will be perfect. Did you know staying in this pose is actually very good for your health?”

 _How am I supposed to focus on yoga now?_ She had expect him not take yoga seriously but never had she imagined she would be the inattentive one. Sansa nevertheless walked back to her mat where she resumed her sun salutation; in the end, Sandor took off his T-shirt and threw it to the floor. _God, I’m blushing again…_ It was difficult for her not to stare at his muscles or at the hair covering his abdomen and Sansa was sure he knew exactly what effect the sight of his naked torso had on her. He had the most innocent look when he asked Sansa: “What?”

“Nothing. Let’s get back to yoga if you’re ready.”

She then decided to test Sandor’s equilibrium with the tree pose and the lord of the dance pose. Her companion had trouble keeping his balance, yet he never expressed his reluctance.

The yoga session went on, with warrior and triangle poses; the shadows were growing longer inside the solarium and at some point, Sansa realized they’d soon need to turn on the light. She suggested they laid back on their mat for the meditation, told him he could keep his eyes open as long as he focused on her voice and she did her best to guide him through the meditation. When it was over, they slowly sat up and started rolling their mats.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Sandor had cleared his throat before uttering these words, suggesting he wasn’t completely sure of where this was going.

“Nope,” she said, keeping her eyes down. She didn’t want to blush again because his T-shirt hung on his shoulder. “Do you?”

“Not really. I’m starving though. I guess this yoga session whetted my appetite and I’m probably going to eat out. Wanna join me?” He casually stood there with his rolled-up mat under his arm, yet something in his voice betrayed his uneasiness.

 _He’s not familiar with asking someone out, he can’t close his eyes because he’s unable to let himself go: there are so many things I need to learn about him._ As she mused about his somewhat strange behavior, Sansa realized she wasn’t just curious about Sandor and his past: it was much more than the familiar sensation of interest she felt when she met someone. She _needed_ to know more, to find out what kind of man he was - and she understood all of a sudden she’d feel terrible if she failed to discover who Sandor Clegane really was.

“Well… why not?” she answered. “Where do you want to go?”

“We’ll figure out. I’m going to change clothes and so should you if you want to come with me.” With that, he left the solarium and strode off to his room.

Five minutes later, Sansa found Sandor waiting for her in what Cersei persisted in calling the ‘family room’ although Sansa had never seen the whole family gathered there. Slouched in an armchair, Sandor wore a black long sleeve T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She had hesitated for a short while before slipping on a short skirt and a fluffy sweater: looking like she was going on a date was out of the question - hence the fluffy sweater - but at the same time she wanted to make an effort for him and that was why the skirt seemed a good option. On the evidence of Sandor’s smile when he saw her, she wasn’t completely wrong.

“So where are we heading to?” she inquired, fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

Sandor jumped on his feet then shrugged. “Maybe some diner. I know a good one a couple of miles away from here. Comfort food, decent prices.”

“Sounds good to me.”

As he led the way to the garage, Sansa could smell his scent; it had nothing to do with the expensive and heady Cologne Joffrey drench himself in. Sandor was more the kind of guy who applied deodorant, rather than Cologne. _Because men who actually know their ass from their elbow put on deodorant, not perfume._

“Let’s take the convertible, for a change,” she suggested, once inside the garage, when Sandor turned on the light. The cars - two sedans, a truck and an old convertible - were lined up under the neons of the garage. Sandor spun on his heels to face her: he arched his only eyebrow but a crooked smile lit his face.

“You’re living dangerously, Miss Stark.” His amused tone delighted her as he walked to the convertible, opened the passenger door for her and motioned her inside with a flourish.

* * *

The diner proved to be a good address, just like Sandor had told her, with delicious food and moderate prices, but as she sipped her milkshake, she could list a bunch of nice details Sandor had forgotten to mention. _This restaurant has nothing to do with the places I’ve seen lately. It’s good to see something different._ First off, the diner was a real one, with slightly worn out booth sets - Sansa’s seat had known better days - not one of these places so neat and so tidy it looks fake. The checkered floor, the chromes on the counter and the black and white photographs on the walls made the diner all the more charming. More than once, Sansa found herself watching the ageless owner who constantly moved between the kitchens and the customers’ tables at a trot.

“Do you like it here?” Sandor asked all of a sudden.

“You know I do. I’ll certainly come back here.”

“With Joffrey?” The words had come, unbidden, and Sandor had wished he could swallow them right after, she could tell. His question was slightly embarrassing, to say the least.

She put down her glass, let her gaze drift through the window before finally replying: “Well… This place is kind of romantic if you want my opinion, so months ago I would have answered yes, but Joffrey is not exactly in a romantic mood these days.”

Silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the chit-chat of the nearest customers, until Sansa gathered her courage and asked: “What do you think about Margaery Tyrell?”

Sandor ran his fingers through his hair. “Expensive clothes. Fake smiles.”

“Do you always answer like this, with just a couple of words?” Although the subject was sensitive his terse reply made her chuckle.

“Sometimes I don’t answer at all. You’re lucky I decided to answer your question.” He winked at her, then drained his glass of beer. Sansa kept staring at him, her elbows resting on the table, amused, but wishing he would elaborate. He probably understood what she expected of him because he finally added: “Margaery Tyrell is not half the woman you are.”

“So you know about her and Joffrey?”

“I’m not blind, girl. The little shit doesn’t deserve you.”

“He’s your boss…”

Sandor lifted his big hands as if to stop her. “He’s a little shit and you know it. You wouldn’t immerse yourself in your books or spend so much time doing yoga if he was such a great boyfriend.”

“Touché.” There was still condensation on her glass and Sansa started tracing lines on it, the cool sensation of water under the pad of her index hardly soothing her. While pretending to focus on her glass, she could at least avoid Sandor’s gaze.

“What are you going to do about it?” Sandor asked.

She stubbornly kept her eyes on the milkshake glass. “Someday I’ll leave. I’ll have to.”

“We shouldn’t talk about them all tonight,” he suddenly told her. “Not sure the Tyrell girl and your boyfriend deserve our attention.”

“What should we talk about, then?” she sighed. This time she looked at him and searched his half-burnt face for an answer.

He shrugged, then leaned forward slightly. After finishing his food he had put his plate on the side: his hands and forearms rested on the table, his fingers dangerously close to Sansa’s.

“It’s up to you, little bird.” He was still looking at Sansa, although his gray eyes never seemed to focus on something: his gaze lingered on her hands, moved upward to caress her shoulder, then back on her fingers. At some point he looked sideways and Sansa wondered if he felt a bit awkward, but he soon met her gaze.

“We should talk about your first yoga lesson,” she said. “How did you find it?”

And as Sandor started expressing his interrogations and telling her how strange it seemed for someone who was more familiar with barbells and bench press, she noticed he resumed his little game, looking into her eyes, letting his gaze drift away suddenly then looking down or sideways. A realization dawned upon her and her cheeks started burning.

 _He’s flirting with me._ It was so obvious she didn’t understand how she could have missed it before.

* * *

 

The drive home started in silence, although Sansa didn’t feel as awkward as she had expected. The notion Sandor flirted with her was still too new and too overwhelming and she was therefore unable to make conversation. As for Sandor, he looked relaxed and even hummed while driving. At some point though, he turned right instead of staying on the main road. Sansa shot him a quizzical look

“Surprised, huh?” he said, swiveling his head towards her. “Don’t worry, I just don’t want to take you back home before showing you a place I really like.” As the hood was folded down he had to raise his voice.

“Why would I worry?” she retorted, brushing aside strands of hair that blinded her. “We’re driving at breakneck speed on a side road I never took before, going God knows where…”

“... and you’re alone in this car with a man who has a criminal record,” he added. “Told you you live dangerously, girl.” He finally slowed down then pulled over and Sansa only needed to look on her right to see what he wanted to show her.

Only then did she realize the road they had taken was going up the hills; darkness had blurred her perception. From the hilltop where Sandor had pulled over, they had a stunning view on the city below; the halo formed by the street lights captured her attention for some time, until she noticed Sandor had gotten out of the car and was standing on the side, watching the landscape too. On an impulse she opened the car door and closed the distance between them, stopping next to him; now she could even see the highway, directly below the hill. Everything was quiet: distance muffled the noises coming from the highway, allowing Sansa to enjoy the view.

“So this is the place you wanted to show me,” she whispered, afraid to break the spell or to disturb him. As he had told her it was one of his favorite places, Sansa didn’t need to look at his face to know all trace of anger had disappeared and he was simply contemplating the lights. _Perhaps is he smiling._

“This is the place, yes.”

He turned to her briefly and for a split-second she wondered if he was going to kiss her on the spot. _What am I imagining? This is stupid, I’m still with Joffrey. I mean, we didn’t break up officially. And this dinner wasn’t even a proper date… At the same time is Sandor the kind of guy who waits the end of the first date to kiss a girl? I don’t know, maybe not… God, we’re looking at the view and I’m not even able to enjoy it. You’re a fool, Sansa Stark._

Light points, swarming in the distance: the city didn’t look so impressive from afar. Sansa remembered a time when bright lights attracted her and clouded her judgment. _The game has changed a lot since then._

Her companion remained silent for a minute or two, then she _felt_ , rather than she saw him turning to her. The light touch of his arm against hers, his breathing suddenly heavier announced _something_ that made her heart flutter. “Are you cold, little bird?” he rasped. His long hair brushed her forehead.

“No… Yes… I mean, not that much,” she mumbled, asking herself why her reply was so utterly stupid. The next second, she felt Sandor’s large hand on the small of her back. His hand stayed there, instead of travelling down to her butt like she half-expected it. Soon enough, she understood there would be no kiss, no caresses that night. If Sandor thought about kissing her - which was likely - he didn’t seem like he wanted to rush things for now.

Younger, Sansa had had a dog she had called Lady and loved to pieces. The day her father had given her Lady, who was just a pup at the time, she had literally spent hours stroking its soft fur and at night. She had spent so much time that day with the pup in her arms, and she had been so happy about it, she still felt like she was still holding Lady when she had gone to bed. The sensation was sounfamiliar, so weird she had asked her mother about it. Catelyn Stark had told her daughter that emotions and unusual events sometimes had that effect on people, leaving them with the ghost of a touch at night.

Closing her eyes for a second to enjoy the warmth radiating from Sandor’s hand, Sansa told herself she would fall asleep feeling like Sandor’s hand was still against her back, like he was still with her even if he was in his own bed, in another part of the big, silent house. The certainty she would feel his contact long after he had removed his hand from her back was, she had to admit it, delightful.


	5. The Puppy Pose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her phone vibrated, raising her from her thoughts. Is it him? As she extended her arm to grab her phone, she shook her head at her own foolishness. She used to ask herself the same question when she had started dating Joffrey, with a genuine, innocent enthusiasm. Enthusiasm had gradually tapered off then had been replaced by apprehension. That was before elation came back every time she got a new text. ‘Is it him?’ was these days the first question that popped into her mind except ‘him’ didn’t refer to Joffrey anymore. She was expecting Sandor’s messages and it was harder and harder to hide it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments you sent on the previous chapter. This fic being lighthearted and quite different from my usual stuff they were greatly appreciated!  
> This chapter wasn't edited: if you find any mistake, feel free to tell me :)  
> I guess some of you were waiting for what happens in this update: I hope you'll like it.

A storm was brewing.

If his foul temper was any indication, Joffrey’s relationship with Margaery was no bed of roses. Was the Tyrell girl capricious? Did she drive Joff up the wall? As he didn’t open up to her, Sansa could only guess. She wasn’t blind though; she saw her boyfriend unhappy and bad-tempered, she observed how he moped whenever he came back from the Tyrell house and she had an idea of what was going on.

Leaving the Lannisters’ house had become Sansa’s obsession; she felt out of place there yet she didn’t know where to go. _Where’s home?_

Winterfell used to be her home when she was younger and careless, when she still had loving parents and a bunch of siblings, loud and annoying. Their flaws nonetheless disappeared completely when she couldn’t see them: she missed them terribly now and wondered why in heaven’s name she used to complain about Arya’s behavior. Jon had left first, to fight abroad, then her parents and her brother Robb had died successively. Arya, Bran and little Rickon were all missing. She had nobody to turn to. _Well, there’s always Petyr Baelish, but frankly…_ With his sports car and his tailored suits, he looked more and more like an aging Lothario. Baelish had once implied he and Sansa’s mother had been more than friends when they were in high school. Sansa didn’t want further details about her mother dating someone who wasn’t her father. _Gross._ _Besides… we’re talking about Baelish. He’s shorter than Mom, he’s not exactly the kind of guy you dream about when you’re sixteen… Mom had good taste in men, right?_ Her unease was obvious, she thought, but when Baelish had seen her crying her eyes out after one of Joffrey’s fits of anger, he had told her she could always come to him if she was in trouble. Sansa had politely answered she would be OK. _Thanks but no thanks._

There she was, with no money and no one to turn to, anxious to leave the campus without completing her studies, worried to lose the only person who seemed to care about her in this place. _Sandor… If I leave, will I see him again?_

Although she had met Sandor at the same time she had been introduced to the Lannisters, she had first considered he was part of the furniture; at that time, it was easier to ignore his scars and his quick temper. _Damn, it feels like it’s been ages._ Sansa had kept looking away - both literally and figuratively - until he forced her to notice he was in the picture. Now she couldn’t envision leaving the Lannisters and perhaps the city without being sure she’d see him again. _At least from time to time._

Sansa slapped her book shut, put it down on her desk and sat back on her chair. No matter how hard she wanted her essay done, she was - for now - unable to focus on it. Closing her eyelids, she wondered when it had become obvious she just couldn’t give up whatever she had with Sandor. _What kind of relationship is it, actually? It’s more than friendship and I know he’s flirting with me. What do I want though? What does he want?_

He often smiled and laughed - sometimes at her expense - now that she knew him better and did some yoga with him. _Some would say it’s the magic of yoga._ Sansa chose to believe yoga wasn’t the only reason why the Hound had changed in mere weeks. _I have something to do with it. I know it._

She was pretty sure he restrained himself from being too forward because they both lived under the Lannisters’ roof: his glances towards the door when they practiced yoga and they heard _something_ in the house spoke volumes.

Her phone vibrated, raising her from her thoughts. _Is it_ him _?_ As she extended her arm to grab her phone, she frowned at her own foolishness. She used to ask herself the same question when she had started dating Joffrey, with a genuine, innocent enthusiasm. Enthusiasm had gradually tapered off then had been replaced by apprehension. That was before elation came back every time she got a new text. _‘Is it him?’_ was these days the first question that popped into her mind except _‘him’_ didn’t refer to Joffrey anymore. She was expecting Sandor’s messages and it was harder and harder to hide it.

Sansa couldn’t help smiling when she read:

‘Hey, little bird. Still OK for tonight? Let’s say 6 PM, same place.’

‘Sounds great. Hope you’ll be in the mood for some hip opening poses.’

‘I’m always in the mood.’

His words forced a smile out of her. Their exchanges often had the same slightly cryptic tone one could find in lovers’ texts. _If I didn’t delete our conversations afterwards and someone came across our messages, they’d think I’m cheating on Joffrey._ Sometimes Sansa asked herself if she wasn’t already cheating on him. Was she cheating when she looked at Sandor’s butt under the pretense of checking his alignement when he did a downward-facing dog? When she went to the beauty salon because she wanted her skin smooth for yoga? When she spent long minutes trying to decide what outfit she would wear and picked a sports bra instead of a comfy T-shirt?

From the moment she had realized Sandor flirted with her she had felt awkward, frightened and euphoric in turns. Lately, she was more and more attracted to him and wondered if it showed when they were with the Lannisters. Tommen had walked in on them as they practiced yoga two days before: they were facing each other, in cross-legged position when the door had flown open, revealing Tommen’s frame.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tommen had asked, looking alternatively at his brother’s girlfriend and at the Lannister’s head of security.

“Tommen, language!” Sansa had answered with a sigh. “We were doing yoga.”

“Obvi.” Tommen had rolled his eyes and turned to Sandor. “Since when are you doing yoga?”

That was when Sansa had realized Sandor was much more embarrassed by Tommen’s intrusion than she was: the tall man in front of her had swallowed hard before scrambling to his feet and standing up.

“I’ve been doing yoga for a week or two. You know, to… focus on things.”

Tommen had arched an eyebrow and given him a puzzled look.

“Do you wanna join us?” Sansa had offered the boy, tongue in cheek.

“Hell, no! I came here to ask you if you wanted to watch a movie or something after dinner, but since you’re busy teaching Sandor how to… sit cross-legged… I’d better go. See you later.”

“It’s called sukhasana or easy pose!” Sandor had explained as the boy closed the door, causing Sansa’s mirth.

After Tommen’s departure, they had resumed their yoga lesson, but Sansa didn’t need to ask Sandor to be sure he wondered what the boy would do and if he would tell his brother about what he had seen. The prospect of Tommen talking about them to Joffrey seemingly made him break out into a cold sweat.

Nothing had happened afterward and somehow Sansa convinced herself Tommen would keep it for himself. She had other things on her mind, like choosing her outfit for the next yoga lesson or trying to focus on yoga and not on her companion’s muscles. _Well, it’s not only that he’s muscled, it’s about what the strength and confidence he exudes… Oh crap, I sound really cheesy now…_

* * *

The way Sandor had looked at her - the way he had stared hungrily at her, more precisely - when she had entered his field of vision had made her blush deeply. She saw a glint in his eyes whether she wore revealing clothes or not whenever they met, but she admitted the outfit she had chosen was meant to draw his attention.

The white yoga bra with a plunge neckline looked more like a bikini top and less like a regular sports bra, but Sansa thought the run shorts she wore with it made the outfit sporty enough. In the end, considerations about her yoga clothes didn’t matter, because she wanted him to watch her and that was exactly what he was doing.

Whether she was sitting cross-legged or doing a cat-cow pose, whether she gave him instructions or remained silent for a couple of heartbeats, she felt his hot gaze on her. Slowly but surely, it made her cheeks redden, her mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t. Above all, it was getting harder and harder to stay focused on the routine she had carefully planned, with his gray eyes on her lips, on her cleavage or on her bare legs. Sansa felt like she couldn’t escape it; there was no way to pretend she wasn’t under his scrutiny. _He won’t close his eyes,_ she thought. _He never closes his eyes. Well, I asked for it._ This yoga session was equal parts awkwardness and elation.

When it was over, she wondered if Sandor would ask her out again or if she should ask him to stay with her just a little longer. What kind of lame excuse giving in this case? _‘My bookshelf is askew: can you fix it?’ What about ‘I think I sprained my ankle’?..._ As she looked for a way to delay the moment he would leave, she instinctively gazed down and started chewing her bottom lip.

“Sansa?” His deep voice almost made her jump and she raised her eyes to find him sitting on his haunches right in front of her. Her surprised look made him chuckle and he slowly shake his head. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am. What is it?”

“There’s something I don’t understand about a couple of yoga poses so I checked on the Internet. Only found shitty answers so I thought I might ask you.”

Sansa mirrored his pose and gently rested her hands on her knees. “So you’ve been doing research about yoga? I’m quite impressed. What are the asanas that bug you?”

“Looks like cobra pose and upward-facing dog are just the same.”

“Many people don’t see the difference,” she explained, shrugging.

His gaze drifted from her mouth to her breasts, then back to her eyes, making Sansa’s cheeks instantly warmer. “Can you show me the difference?”

Surprised by his request, she nodded after a few heartbeats. _I guess I won’t have to find any excuse,_ she told herself as she lied down on her stomach. _Sandor is buying time._ The thought he had racked his brains to spend more time with her elated Sansa and she couldn’t help smiling against the ridged surface of her mat.

Then she realized he didn’t move and she looked up: “Won’t you go on your mat to do it at the same time?”

Eyes half-closed, he shook his head. “For now, I’d rather watch you.”

_He’s not even trying to hide it,_ she mused. Her heart fluttered, her throat felt dry but she did her best to regain her composure.

“So... when you do the cobra pose, you press on your hands to lift yourself, like this…,” she started. “Your toes point towards the end of the mat and your feet press down too. You open your chest, you gaze forward and you make sure you keep a long neck. But… you keep your hips, thighs and knees on the mat and your arms stay close to the body, slightly bent...”

As she explained how to do a good cobra pose, Sansa could see him in the periphery of her vision, sitting on his haunches, not missing a thing.

“... whereas, the upward-facing dog pose is more challenging. Your knuckles press down so that your arms are straight and your hips, thighs and knees lift away from the mat, like this. See? My weight only rests on my hands and on my feet, but my legs just hover over the mat.”

Her heart was pounding as she felt Sandor’s gaze on her legs and buttocks. In a desperate attempt to conceal her embarrassment, she asked if he was able to do the two poses now. Perhaps her tone was a bit too lively, because Sandor suppressed a chuckle before going back to his mat.

At some point of their yoga lesson he had removed his T-shirt - _‘to prevent any wardrobe malfunction’,_ he had told her with a knowing smile - so when he did the cobra pose, she couldn’t miss his pecs and abs. _He makes the simplest pose look impressive…_ Lost in her thoughts, she stared at him like he had stared at her earlier until he asked if he did it right.

“Looks good to me,” she said, trying not to show her turmoil. “Let’s see your upward-facing dog now. Don’t forget to align your hands with your shoulders and chest... Great job.”

_So what, now?_ Was he going to ask her out? Sitting cross-legged on her mat, Sansa gave him a sidelong look and wondered if he would just walk out of the solarium or if he’d make the first move.

“I had another question,” Sandor went on, serious as ever. “What’s the difference between the extended child and the puppy pose?”

_Still buying time, huh?_ The certainty he didn’t want her to go back to her room brought a smile on her face.

“If Tommen walks in on us while I’m doing the puppy pose, I don't want to be held accountable for what might happen,” she warned him.

“What do you mean?” Although he claimed his hatred for lies and liars, Sandor was good at faking innocence, when need be. The glint in his gray eyes belied his outraged tone.

Sansa chuckled. “Come on, you know what the puppy pose looks like or else you wouldn’t ask.”

“I swear I don’t.” Sandor went too far by placing his hand on his heart; at this point, he did his best to keep a straight face. She knew he was pulling her leg and challenging her at the same time: she could almost guess what was going on behind his mocking eyes. _‘Is the little bird going to chicken out?’_

_This is not about yoga anymore._ She wouldn’t give him the pleasure to say she was too fainthearted to do a puppy pose in front of him. Sighing deeply, she narrowed her eyes as if he was some spoiled child to whom she couldn’t refuse anything. Then she crawled back to the center of her yoga mat, kneeled, and on an exhale bent forward while walking her hands towards Sandor.

“You’re supposed to stretch your spine and your arms when doing the extended child's pose,” she explained, her forehead resting on the mat. “This is a very relaxing pose and that’s why we practice it after doing more challenging asanas.”

All of a sudden, the wooden floor creaked under Sandor’s weight and she felt - rather than she saw - he was sitting down on her left, very close to her. “What about the puppy pose?” His husky tone made Sansa shiver. Did he see the goosebumps on her arms as she sat back on her heels?

“The puppy pose is different,” she said, a bit nervous. “You stretch your spine just the same but you keep your hips directly over your knees…”

Trying to ignore his heavy gaze on her - although she knew it was a wasted effort - she went to all fours, slowly walked her hands as far away as she could and lowered her chest to the ground in the meantime. In the end, she released her forehead to the mat, wondering what she looked like, with her buttocks up in the air. _Maybe it’s a blessing I can’t see his face right now._

“Do you see the difference now?” she asked him, sitting up. She had not realized how close he was to her; his smell tickled her nostrils and she blushed again.

“Such an innocent name for a suggestive pose,” he commented. “The dudes who invented this pose were dirty old men.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and turned toward him. “Hey, you asked me to do it. And… and stop pretending you didn’t know what it looked like.” His laugh echoed in the solarium. “You asked me to do a puppy pose with… with full knowledge of the facts.” Annoyed by his reaction, she jabbed a finger at his chest.

Before she understood what was happening, she felt her wrist trapped in one of his big hands.

“What are you doing?” She tried to wriggle away, but his grip was too tight. In one heartbeat, the smile on his face had vanished and he now bored into her eyes. All of a sudden, he pulled her close and let go of her wrist only to wrap his arm around her waist.

“Is this what you want?”

Unable to utter a sound, she nodded.

Lately, when she was unable to sleep, Sansa asked herself repeatedly what it was like to kiss Sandor or to be in arms. She had decided a night with him had nothing to do with the awkward nights she had spent with Joffrey.

No matter how many times she had dreamed about being with him during the last two weeks, the sensation of his arms around her and the touch of his muscles was unexpected; never did she think it would be so sudden and so overwhelming.

Craning her neck, she looked at him and listened to his labored breath as he ducked his head to kiss her. His hair caressed her cheeks before she felt his cracked lips on hers.

At first their kiss was unhurried and tentative, and Sansa found him unexpectedly tender, then, after cupping the scarred side of his face, she willingly opened her mouth and the pace changed. It suddenly felt like he had been restraining himself for too long and was now unable to stop. Not only did he deepen their kiss but he made Sansa lie down on the yoga mat and settled himself between her open legs.

_Should we stop?_ Sansa had longed for kisses and caresses but reality forced her dreams to dissolve when she opened her eyes and saw the walls of the solarium behind Sandor's shoulder. They were at the Lannisters’, she was officially Joffrey’s girlfriend and the door wasn’t even properly locked.

“Are you OK?” Her nervousness must have been obvious, because Sandor had broken their kiss.

Sansa held his gaze silently; the scarred man leaning over her looked anxious now. She swallowed hard and kissed him before whispering against his mouth: “I’m OK. Please don’t stop.”

Still kissing her fervently, he ran his hands on the bare skin of her sides before palming one breast through the fabric of her yoga bra. _It’s not enough,_ she thought, answering his feverish kisses. It clearly wasn’t enough for Sandor but she realized now it wasn’t enough for her either. She contorted herself to reach behind her back and she undid her bra: meanwhile, Sandor let out a growl which put a throb between her legs. They stared at each other briefly then he made her lie down again. She felt exposed as he let his eyes roam over her; at the same time, Sandor’s gaze empowered her and it was good to be so bold for a change. Soon kisses tickled her jawline and her neck before she felt his tongue on her nipple. A moan escaped her lips, spurring him even more. Her head lolled back and she asked herself why they were on a yoga mat and not on a bed...

Somewhere in the mansion, a door slammed and they heard the clicking of a pair of heels on the floor.

“Sansaaa?” a feminine voice called from the family room. It was Cersei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two or three more chapters after this one, always with the same lighthearted tone. I hope you'll enjoy what I have in store for these two.


	6. Bonus Chapter: How To Nail a Pigeon Pose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take a moment to remember why you chose to spend time on your mat, today.” Sansa’s voice was silky as she guided him into the brief meditation with which began every yoga lesson. Why in hell did he choose to put on some tight yoga pants (offered by Sansa) that made him look like a fucking ballet dancer? Why was he sitting on a yoga mat that still smelled of plastic, ready to contort himself to do poses with ridiculous names? The answer was quite obvious. _There are lots of things I’m ready to do to watch Sansa wearing yoga pants and a matching bra. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illusory asked me here if I was going to write a chapter with Sandor’s POV in ‘Upward-Facing Dog’, because she wanted to know what were his thoughts during the yoga lessons Sansa gives in this fic. A chapter written from his POV wasn’t in the outline but as I had some time on my hands, I decided to write this as a bonus chapter. I posted it first on tumblr for Valentine's Day.

“Take a moment to remember why you chose to spend time on your mat, today.” Sansa’s voice was silky as she guided him into the brief meditation with which began every yoga lesson. Sitting cross-legged, she faced him, eyes closed, a faint smile pulling the corners of her lips. Why in hell did he choose to put on some tight yoga pants (offered by Sansa) that made him look like a fucking ballet dancer? Why was he sitting on a yoga mat that still smelled of plastic, ready to contort himself to do poses with ridiculous names? The answer was quite obvious. _There are lots of things I’m ready to do to watch Sansa wearing yoga pants and a matching bra. Besides, she said we’d do hip-opening postures and the bridge pose. I love it when she arches her back._

Sandor didn’t close his eyes during the meditation; he knew he was supposed to but he _couldn’t_ . Sansa had diligently explained the necessity of closing one’s eyes and letting go. To no avail: no matter how hard he tried to flutter his eyes closed, to please her, he soon found himself opening his eyelids again because watchfulness meant survival. _You don’t close your eyes and you don’t let yourself go when you’ve seen the shit people do to each other._ Fifteen years working for the Lannisters had convinced him never to close his eyes; and long before that, growing up with a monster named Gregor had taught him not to trust other people. He trusted Sansa of course, and knew the little bird wouldn’t take advantage of the situation if he closed his eyes… _Or would she?_ He suspected her to steal glances at him when he did some poses. Not that he minded. _If I knew my abs distracted her from my scars, I would have taken my shirt off a long time ago. I guess I’m her eye candy, now._ The idea put a smile on his face but he managed to suppress it before Sansa opened her eyes again: the meditation was over.

After the moon salutation Sandor found kind of weird (the Hound, the epitome of manliness doing something called the ‘Goddess pose’? _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ), they carried on with a variation of the warrior poses. These were easier for him now but he remembered how he had struggled the first time to follow Sansa’s instructions. The fact she was in front of him, wearing yoga tights, didn’t help him focus. The loose tank top she wore that day made it worse: he couldn’t help wondering if she was wearing a bra underneath it and what it looked like. Each pose was an opportunity to look at her and try to catch a glimpse at the lacy thing he thought the tank top hid from his eyes.

 _People have the strangest thoughts during a yoga class,_ he mused, trying to convince himself he was not the only one to let his mind wander. _I’d bet my bottom dollar on it. They ask themselves if they didn’t forget to turn the gaz off, they think of what they’re gonna eat for dinner and they wonder if they have stinking feet… I keep thinking of Sansa. Basically, it’s the same._

“Great work. Now we can take a breather and do a nice child’s pose,” she said sitting on her heels then leaning forward until she was in the foetal position. _Good._ Child’s pose was a piece of cake. Before mirroring Sansa’s gestures, he glanced at her. Her ponytail fanned out on the yoga mat as she kept her forehead to the ground. _She looks so small, this way. A bundle of little bird. A concentrate of little bird. Nah, it sounds like some cheesy ad for food…_

A long, deep breath in coming from the other yoga mat informed him Sansa was already done with child’s pose and he unfolded his spine to sit back on his heels.

Sansa was observing him, smiling. “What about pigeon pose, now?”

 _Fuck me sideways!_ There was nothing he dreaded more than this bloody pigeon pose. He nevertheless followed Sansa’s instructions, first going on all fours then sliding the right leg forward and bringing the right foot in front of the left knee.

“OK. Now slide your left leg behind you and see if you can sink a bit deeper. Right heel aligned with your left hip. Your right buttock should touch the mat…”

_Should the fabric of these fucking yoga pants be stuck between my arse cheeks too?_

“Do you know that ‘pigeon’ is almost an insult in French?” he suddenly asked Sansa, looking daggers at her.

She chuckled. “I don’t think I want to know in what circumstances you learnt French insults.”

“No, you don’t. You’d rather keep torturing me with this pigeon-shitting-itself pose.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Quit complaining, we’re almost done,” she sighed. “Look over your shoulder, place your left arm behind you, on your left thigh. Now let’s see if you can bend your left knee. Good. Try to grab your foot with your hand. Hmm, looks like you nailed it!”

A string of curse words filled Sandor’s mind as his legs and groin stretched. _I didn’t even know I had muscles there,_ he thought, setting his jaw.

“Breathe, Sandor. Now is a good moment to smile too.”

 _Don’t push it, girl._ A smile played about Sansa’s lips as she checked his alignment, then took in his furious gaze. In the end, she let her eyes linger on his bare torso.

“For how long are we supposed to stay like this?” he asked, knowing his voice would raise her from her thoughts and probably make her blush.

As he expected, her cheeks went crimson and she stuttered: “Well, you can… I mean, we can… stay still for a couple of breaths.” Her eyes were back on his muscled chest. _If the little bird wants to feast her eyes on me, I can endure it._

After the infamous pigeon pose, they did some more stretching poses before Sansa told him to sit cross-legged for another moment of meditation. At first, he had wondered why in hell people needed a sort of nap time at the end of a yoga lesson. It didn’t make sense to him, like all the things Sansa kept saying during the meditation, so he had let his mind wander. Eyes open, staring alternatively at Sansa and at the sober decoration of the solarium where they practiced yoga, he had thought about his job, about Joffrey’s last stupidity. In the end, his thoughts always came back to Sansa.

Now he was able to listen to her voice instead and the things she said started  to make sense. His thoughts inexorably went back to her when she remained silent though. Her blue eyes, her soft skin, her curves, her back arching while doing the bridge pose earlier - he had asked her to show him first how she did it and she had complied, blushing slightly as if she knew this wasn’t just about yoga - her bloody patience. Because it took a lot of patience to teach him something, he knew it.

He started feeling different, as if his concerns about his job, about the Lannisters were just clouds in the sky, moving along with the wind - it was the image Sansa often used about thoughts interfering with meditation. That odd feeling in his limbs was pleasant too. At this moment, Sansa’s soothing voice and her presence in the room were the only things that mattered. The combination of all this made him feel at peace and he wondered if what he experienced at that very moment was what Sansa referred to when she said he had to let himself go.

“You can deepen your breath now,” Sansa said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “And you can… open your eyes, I guess.”

As the realization dawned upon him, he took a sharp intake of breath. _Did I close my eyes? Like, for real?_ Sansa was gazing at him, hands in prayer, beaming at him. His quizzical look made her chuckle softly then she answered the question burning his lips.

“Yes, you closed your eyes. For the first time since we started doing yoga together.”

Before he understood what was happening, she went on all fours and crawled to him, leaving only a few inches between them. Her perfect face was so close he thought she was going to bite his nose or maybe to kiss him when she said, grinning: “You’re making strides, Mr. Clegane. I’m so proud of you.” 


	7. The boat pose - In the same boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the blond woman swiveled on her heels Sansa started breathing easier; her respite was short-lived though. Cersei glanced back at Sansa over her shoulder, her green eyes piercing through the girl. “Do you know what I thought when I arrived and saw you, wearing these itsy-bitsy shorts and this yoga bra, all red and out of breath? I asked myself if you weren’t with someone inside? Someone who’s not Joffrey. Of course you were not. Infidelity requires imagination and you never struck me as an imaginative person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while…  
> This chapter starts right after chapter 5’s cliffhanger and it mostly describes Sansa’s interactions with the Lannisters.  
> Warnings for mentions of abuse.  
> Yoga With Adriene’s videos inspired one of the scenes. If you want to practice yoga at home but need something to motivate you, I warmly recommend her videos. She’s always insisting on alignment - something yoga videos sometimes forget -, she offers options for each asana so you never feel like it’s too easy/too hard for you… and she doesn’t take herself too seriously.

Whether she was ordering a drink or having a conversation with her children, Cersei’s voice always exuded the same sense of urgency and irritation. Saying Sansa didn’t like it was an understatement; it made her grit her teeth.

When her fascination for the Lannisters and the Baratheons had worn off, Sansa had discovered what kind of woman Cersei was, behind her designer clothes and her 4 inch Louboutin heels. She had realized what Cersei had been through with her late husband, she had understood how complicated it must have been to grow up in a dysfunctional family such as  the Lannisters’. It didn’t excuse Cersei’s behavior, but it explained a lot, especially why Sansa felt like she was dealing with a time bomb every time she had to interact with Joffrey’s mother.

Cersei’s tone was full of petulance - and of veiled threats if required. When she told a waiter : “Would you be so kind as to bring me a glass of Cabernet? ” the man heard “And you’d better not give me any reason to complain to your manager.” Every one of Cersei’s sentences meant more than the words they contained; they were filled with warnings and intimidation. Cersei’s voice calling her as she was still topless in the solarium sounded like an imminent threat for Sansa, a promise things would get very difficult and painful unless she was decent before the solarium door opened.

“Sansaaa!” Cersei called again, the clicking sound of her heels making her heart pound in her chest. “I know you’re here, I saw your car in the garage.”

Sandor was already reaching for his T-shirt. “Get dressed!” he mouthed to a panicked Sansa who stared at him.

_Your bra. Quickly. Check your hair. Damn it, it’s tousled..._

“Open the door only once I’m gone,” Sandor ordered under his breath while sliding open the French window. He looked more angry than afraid and for some reason, his commanding tone almost hurt her feelings. _Such a drastic change right after our passionate kisses._ “Don’t make her wait though,” he added, stepping outside.

Not making Cersei wait was part of your survival kit when you dealt with the Lannisters. Sansa nodded vehemently.

“For God’s sake, Sansa, where are you?”

“I’m coming,” Sansa answered, rushing to the door.

The second she opened the door and saw Cersei down the hall, she couldn’t help marveling at her sense of style. Her white sheath dress with cap sleeves flattered her shape without revealing too much skin. She held a nude clutch in such a way that one could hardly make out the discrete signature of an Italian designer on the golden clasp. Her heels might hurt her feet, but never would she let it show, as she sashayed toward Sansa, lifting one eyebrow.

“Did you take a look at yourself recently? You’re beet-red and you’re… pouring sweat.” With that, Cersei recoiled ever so slightly, as if she didn’t want to be contaminated. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Yoga. Power yoga, more precisely. It- It’s a- more intense version of yoga. You know, faster pace, vinyasas... Did you know you can burn up to 300 calories in thirty minutes with Power yoga?” She wondered if her enthusiasm sounded fake. “You know what? Perhaps we should try together someday…” _The crap you say when you’re trying to save your skin...._

Cersei looked Sansa up and down, took in her dishevelled appearance and finally answered: “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll stick to laxatives… So much for that. Hop in the shower, make yourself presentable and join me in my boudoir. I have to talk to you.”

As the blond woman swiveled on her heels Sansa started breathing easier; her respite was short-lived though. Cersei glanced back at Sansa over her shoulder, her green eyes piercing through the girl. “Do you know what I thought when I arrived and saw you, wearing these itsy-bitsy shorts and this yoga bra, all red and out of breath? I asked myself if you weren’t with _someone_ inside. Someone who’s not Joffrey. Of course you were not. Infidelity requires imagination and you never struck me as an imaginative person.”

Sansa swallowed hard. _That was a close call._ She went back to the solarium to grab her things before heading to her bedroom; no matter how many times she had heard Cersei belittling her, it still hurt. A glance toward the French window reminded her of Sandor’s sudden departure. _We kissed, he saw me half-naked but when he left it was as if nothing had happened and he was the Hound again._ Her shoulders sagged.

* * *

An ivory camisole and a pair of navy capri pants had replaced the flawless sheath dress when Sansa opened Cersei’s door after knocking timidly.

Cersei was reclining on a couch, her bare feet resting against a silk cushion. On the coffee table of the boudoir, the maid had disposed a tea set and finger biscuits. The blond woman beckoned Sansa to sit opposite to her and diligently poured a cup of tea for her guest. The girl thanked her before realizing Cersei’s cup of tea remained empty.

“Are you not having tea?” she inquired.

“I asked Gina to bring me a Bloody Mary… For God’s sake, why does it take her so long? Do you think she went picking tomatoes or something?”

Sansa shrugged. She was sitting on the edge of the armchair, ready to retreat if need be. Why would Cersei have a conversation with her? Cersei disliked her - like she disliked the rest of the world, with the exception of her kids. _Is it possible that she knows something about Sandor and me? How would she know about it?_

As the silence stretched, Sansa’s throat became painfully dry. _Maybe it’s my chance to tell her I need to leave this place. It’s going to be awful and God knows what she’ll do because she’ll be so mad at me, but I have to tell her._

“Do you know where Joffrey spends most of his free time, these days?” Cersei questioned her.

Sansa panicked. _What am I supposed to say? Shall I tell her the truth?_ “I- I don’t know,” she muttered.

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Rhetorical question, dear. I know where Joffrey is and I know you know.”

“At the Tyrells’?” Sansa whispered, a sheepish look on her face.

“No, in Rome." Once more, her eyes rolled skyward. "Of course he's at the Tyrells’, flirting with this slut called Margaery!”

_Can this possibly get weirder? I’m having tea with my boyfriend’s mother, he’s cheating on me and I’m more or less cheating on him, and she’s calling my ‘rival’ names… This place is a nuthouse!_

“Won’t you say something?” Cersei urged her.

Gina’s arrival with the belated Bloody Mary gave her some time but Cersei soon went on: “What does this girl have that you don’t? Besides the obvious: she has a knack for manipulating people… and she’s not a doormat...”

If Sansa had not interrupted her, Cersei would have kept inveighing against Margaery as if the young woman had offended her and not her son’s girlfriend. Sansa took a sharp intake of breath and began: “With all due respect, Cersei, I think it’s time for me to… accept what’s going on between Joffrey and Margaery and to take the relevant measures-”

“What do you mean ‘accept what’s going on between Joffrey and Margaery’? What kind of nonsense is this? Don’t you have any self-respect?” she asked, hitting the high notes and leaning forward.

Sansa straightened her back and tried to keep as much space as possible between her shoulders and her ears. _Just a trick to stay calm I learned while doing yoga… how derisory it seems today._ “Cersei, it’s quite obvious that Joffrey is attracted to Margaery. I won’t stand in his way. If Joffrey and I aren’t together anymore, nothing keeps me here.” The second she stopped talking, she started expecting insults and anger. None of that came. Instead, Cersei’s green eyes widened and she burst into laughter.

“If you had any sense of humor, I’d think you’re pulling my leg,” she said once she had regained her seriousness. “But… you don’t have any sense of humor, do you? Only this unfathomable naiveté you Starks all have. Should I say ‘had’? No, you’re not leaving, little dove. Where would you go?” Cersei stood up and started pacing back and forth. “Who would pay for your rent, your studies? I guess you’re thinking ‘Littlefinger. Littlefinger will help me’. You’re sooo wrong. Go knock at his door and this bastard will offer you bed and board. _His_ bed, actually. Self-esteem never was your strong point, but I hope even a milquetoast like you will refuse to sleep with him. Unless you’re not in your right mind, you won’t ask for his help.”

She closed the distance between them and planted herself in front of Sansa who craned her neck to hold the blond woman’s gaze.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because, little dove, all the Stark assets are in my hands, so you’d better do what I say, and I say that you’re going to rekindle your relationship with my son. You’re going to get him back before Margaery gets her hands on him.”

Sansa gaped and it took her some time to process all the things Cersei had told her. “Do you realize your son hurt me? Do you realize I don’t have feelings for him anymore?”

Cersei snorted. “Well, feelings or lack of feelings thereof, never prevented me from sleeping with a man. It’s not like you have a choice, here.” She placed a hand on Sansa’s shoulder: her gesture exuded more condescension than protectiveness. “On the bright side: you don’t need to pack,” Cersei added. “I don’t know about you but there’s nothing I hate more than packing. And... you don’t need to open your legs for Littlefinger, which is definitely a bonus.”

* * *

Since Cersei had almost walked in on them, Sandor was nowhere to be found. Of course he was still in the Lannisters’ mansion, but he seemed to avoid Sansa carefully. At first, Sansa had told herself he didn’t want her to get into trouble if they were found together. It made sense, even though Sansa needed him more than ever after her conversation with Cersei. The day after, she tried to calm herself down and to rationalize. Studying helped. _I can’t leave this place for now. I need to convince Cersei I’m getting Joffrey back, even if I don’t know how to do that. Soon I’ll find a way to escape, but for now I need to play my part._

After a day on the campus, she drove back to the Lannisters', changed clothes and decided to hop on her yoga mat, more out of habit than anything. Being alone in the solarium felt strange, but she told herself again Sandor was being careful after they almost get caught. She started the video and sat cross-legged on her mat.

“Take a moment to settle in,” the yoga teacher, a smiling brown-haired woman, said. “Breathe deeply… You can sway from side to side if it feels good. Maybe you’re wondering if you really have time for this, maybe you’re feeling out of sorts. In this case, observe your breath... Take a deep breath… The mantra today is ‘I accept’. I accept myself, I accept where I’m at, I accept whatever-”

 _I accept the situation? I accept that I’m stuck here and that Sandor is awfully quiet since we kissed?_ For lack of breathing in and out satisfyingly, she let out a deep sigh. Sansa nonetheless kept following the woman’s instructions, doing one asana after another, trying to convince herself yoga would help. It always did.

Sansa was doing a nice boat pose, sitting on her mat with her legs in the air and her arms stretched forward, when someone knocked at the door and came in without waiting for her answer.

“What are you doing, exactly?” It was Joffrey’s voice, annoying as ever. He took in the ‘V’ shape of her body as she stayed still, not giving a damn about his sudden arrival.

“I’m doing yoga. You know, this thing I do every single day.” As he gawked, she went on: “This is the boat pose.”

Running his fingers through his short blond hair, Joffrey kept looking at her as if she was crazy. She finally sat on her mat and extended her arm to stop the video.

“What do you want, Joffrey?”

The young man had folded his arms about his chest. _There’s something wrong with him,_ she thought, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  

He cleared his throat. “I want to take you out.”

All in a sudden, it felt like when she was given a surprise package as a kid. The wrapping was pretty and colorful, it was engaging, but she had opened surprise packages before and they had disappointed her. When she teared open a surprise package, she expected more than sour candy and a false moustache.

She arched an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

Joffrey rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just take a shower, change clothes and follow me? I just want to have dinner with you, in some restaurant by the sea. Why is it so hard to believe? ”

“Maybe because you spent the last days at the Tyrells’,” she heard herself say. Sansa bit her lip instantly : she had promised herself she would not bring this up because she had learned not to cross Joffrey.

He seemingly took the blow without going berserk. “Alright, I spent a lot of time out there. Guess what? It wasn’t a good idea.”

_Joff questioning his own decisions? Isn’t it a forerunner of the apocalypse?_

“There’s no trick, Sansa!” he insisted. “We’re gonna have dinner together and that’s all. Now doll yourself up before I change my mind.”

* * *

Sansa knew Joffrey had some hidden agenda when he took her out, she just couldn’t prove it. For at least half an hour, as they drove to the restaurant then read the menu, he almost looked the part of the thoughtful boyfriend. Was she cold? Did she want some cocktail first? Had she ever tried the yakitori-style scallops? She should, they were delicious.

Was it so terrible to be treated like this, after all? While sipping her drink, Sansa told herself Cersei would be delighted they were spending the evening together. Never would have she expected Joffrey to help her fool his own mother. _Did Cersei demand that he stop seeing Margaery? Is it possible? Is he obeying his mother?_

Then he retrieved his phone from his pocket and she realized something fishy was going on. He took pictures of her in her pretty dress and started feeding his account on Instagram. When their food arrived, he did the same, taking pictures of her as she marveled at her creamy pesto shrimp.

“Why are you taking those pictures of me?” she asked, giggling with embarrassment.

“Can’t I have pictures of you on my Instagram?” He reached for her hand and took another picture of her with their fingers intertwined.

And suddenly a realization dawned upon her. _Why does someone post pictures on social media? Why does he post pictures of me? Because Margaery follows him and he’s sending her a message. ‘I’m having a nice time with my girlfriend. You could be here with me instead, but you declined.’_

“You’re using me,” she stated. Her remark caught him with a forkful of eel on its way to his mouth. “The oldest trick in the book: making Margaery jealous by letting her know we’re having dinner together. Do you think she’s going to take the bait?”

The silvery fork hit the plate with a jingling sound and anger suddenly contorted Joffrey’s face. “It took you less time than I thought to realize I wasn’t interested in you anymore,” he hissed. “Of course, I’m trying to make Margaery jealous! Why would I take the trouble to have dinner with you otherwise?”

“You’re pathetic. You want me to help you? I won’t!”

“Careful, Sansa. You see the library of the campus, where you spend so much time? My family paid for it, a couple of years ago. You’re so dedicated to your studies… It would be a shame if you were charged with cheating.”

She swallowed hard. “You wouldn’t do that…”

His green eyes shone with malice. “I could always ask Meryn Trant to hit you in the stomach but… you know, it gets old. Watching you go mad because you put so much effort in your studies and you could lose everything overnight brings a different kind of satisfaction… Whether you like it or not, you’re going to help me.” He took a sip of wine and reveled in her distraught look. “I guess we’re done eating. I’m going to ask for the check and we’ll go for a walk on the observation deck. We’re going to take some selfies and you’d better smile.”

Sansa didn’t know whether her legs would carry her as they walked out of the restaurant a couple of minutes later and she looked so pale the hostess asked her if she was all right. She thought fresh air would do her good; nausea wouldn’t go away so easily though. Joffrey led her to the observation deck.

“Why the long face, Sansa? Smile!” he ordered her.

He told her to lean against the guardrail and to fake happiness. He wrapped his arm around her waist - the mere contact of his hand making her skin crawl - and demanded that she smiled on the selfies he took. Then, as she was wondering what he would come up with next, he started kissing her. She shoved him back.

“Don’t do that!” he shouted. “Don’t do that or I swear I’ll hurt you.”

Trembling like a leaf in her flimsy dress, she watched him as he inched closer, a wicked smile playing about his lips. “Forget what I said earlier about you being beaten by Meryn. Maybe you’ll have both if you resist: the beating and a conversation with the dean about your cheating at the exams.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “It’s just a kiss, Sansa. Now you’d better pull yourself together, because it’s really embarrassing.”

A group of three persons - a couple and an older man - walked past us. Sansa wasn’t sure if they perceived her distress under the dim light of the street lamp. For a second, she considered calling them and asking for their help but the risks were too high if they didn’t believe her. Joffrey had become a master in the art of discrediting other people's accusations. The woman glanced back at Sansa over her shoulder, briefly, and her eyes met Sansa’s. Sansa could have said something at that instant, but all she could think about was a letter coming from the university saying she was charged with cheating.

“Come on,” Joffrey said. His caressing tone sickened her, but it was already too late: one of his hand cupped her face and his wormy lips covered hers. “You used to like it,” he commented between two kisses. When the camera of his phone flashed, she felt tarnished. She took a few steps back and leaned against the guardrail again, to calm herself down.

“A little birdie told me you had a very interesting conversation with my mother,” he said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She expects you to get me back, according to the maid.”

_Gina’s been listening to us. Great._

“Mom wants you to get me back, I need your help to get it on with Marge. You know what, Sansa? We’re in the same boat, you and I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor will be back in the next chapter :)


	8. Down Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that very moment, a realization dawned upon Sansa. Footsteps echoed under the concrete roof, until his shadow covered her trembling hands still clutching her phone. _It’s a trap, she told herself, feeling a knot in her stomach_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the amazing Ladycyprus for editing this update!  
> Your comments and kudos are really appreciated and I hope you'll enjoy this new update.  
> Sandor is back... And Tommen is alive and kicking in this fic. Just sayin'.

It had been ages since Sansa had taken a real yoga lesson in a real studio, with people. As she scanned her surroundings and checked her ponytail, she filled her lungs with air: she felt just as intimidated as the first time she had been in one of these places.

How long had she been practicing at the Lannisters’, alone with an instructor she could only see on her laptop, one who couldn’t actually instruct her? Weeks? Months? Sansa looked up from lowered eyes, took in the large room with mirrors on one side - a reminder of the time the space was dedicated to ballet - and watched people coming in, rolling out their mats and chatting with each other.

Suddenly she remembered the words of her first yoga teacher, a couple of years ago: _“Doing yoga is looking for harmony, between your body and your mind, between yourself and the other people who practice yoga with you. Doing yoga on your own doesn’t make much sense, really.”_ Sansa sighed. _So did I do it wrong the whole time? I didn’t have much choice though._

Doing yoga with Sandor had been a strange experience, but was she looking for harmony when she instructed him? Sometimes maybe, when she told herself yoga might be a way to understand him better. Deep down she knew that there was another reason behind it all... It had nothing to do with the foolish conversation they had weeks ago after he had surprised her on her mat, and it had nothing to do with Sansa’s offer to give him yoga lessons - an offer that sounded like a provocation. She _was_ attracted to him, she had feelings for him and it had been amazing to feel the tension between them every time they rolled out their mats. _I wasn’t looking for harmony, but for_ electricity, _when I shared my practice with him,_ she mused, sitting cross-legged. _I wonder what the yoga teacher would say._

They had sought each other’s presence, they had stolen glances at each other under the pretense they were practicing yoga, they had felt tension in the air… and they had kissed. His strange, distant behavior after that had ruined everything and disheartened her, more than Cersei’s threats and Joffrey’s crazy plan to use her in order to seduce Margaery. She could steel herself for Joffrey’s sick game or grit her teeth whenever she and Cersei were in the same room, but Sandor’s absence was more than she could take.

A middle-aged woman somewhat late for class rolled out a fuschia yoga mat on her left and Sansa scooted over to the side as the lady mumbled her thanks.

On rare occasions she had glimpses of him after their passionate kiss. When they ran into each other, it seemed that there were always other people around to prevent them from having a serious conversation, but she had noticed the dark circles under his eyes and his gaunt features.  He didn’t seem to enjoy the situation either, so why did he keep avoiding her? There was always a possibility Cersei had discovered something about their yoga lessons (well-kept secrets seldom escaped Tywin’s daughter) and therefore threatened Sandor, but if that were the case, Cersei would have reveled in mentally torturing Sansa about her relationship with the Hound. If Cersei had not mentioned the secret yoga lessons, it was because she had not found out - yet.

The more she thought about it, the more she believed Sandor’s gloom had something to do with the comedy Joffrey forced Sansa to play. He had seen Joffrey taking Sansa out for dinner or for shopping, he had been there when Joffrey had held Sansa’s hand or kissed her. _Does he even know it’s a farce?_  Since she barely saw him, she had no chance to tell him the truth.

“Welcome, everyone,” the yoga teacher greeted them. “Okay, so we’re going to begin in extended child’s pose today…”

_Let go of all this and focus on her voice,_ Sansa told herself. The first minutes of the class were always about warm up and meditation. They observed their breath, traced big circles with the nose and rolled their shoulders to awaken their muscles and joints.

“Let’s do some cat-cow, now,” the yoga teacher said softly.

Five rows of women - and a handful of men - docilely stretched and rounded their spines in rhythm. _I bet we look crazy right now._ Without ever noticing it, Sansa started to veer off, shifting her hips to the left then to the right, because it was one of the things she had learned while practicing yoga alone. _One doesn’t always need to listen to the instructor. Creativity can be nice too._ It felt damn good, but she stopped as soon as she noticed her neighbour’s sideways glance.

“It’s time for us to send the hips up high,” the teacher went on. “Down dog!” Her tone was almost cheerful. “Enjoy it, everyone, this is the first down dog of our practice tonight.”

_Down dog._ As she mimicked the others, the weight of her body resting on her palms and feet, Sansa couldn’t help remember Sandor’s remark when he had interrupted her, one day she did yoga while watching a video on Youtube. _“I heard someone calling a dog. Am I not supposed to come in when I hear my name?”_ All this because he had heard the online yoga instructor talking about upward-facing dog pose. It was an excuse, now she knew it. _Down dog._ As much as she hated the infamous moniker Joff had given him, Sansa realized that the name of this pose reminded her of Sandor’s sullen look, the last time she had seen him.

_I need to swallow my pride and go back to Sandor. Now how do I gather courage to talk to him?_ The yoga lesson had just started and she felt unable to focus, obsessed by the thought she should drive back to the Lannisters’ and find him. Or maybe she should consider that her relationship with Joffrey, even if it was a pretence, disgusted him so much it was wiser to just leave him be... Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall why she had come here in the first place. _I wanted clarity._ She exhaled slowly. _Let go, and maybe I’ll discover what to say when I see him._

* * *

The garage was half-empty when she came back to the Lannisters’ mansion; she therefore assumed everyone was out. Was Sandor with Joffrey somewhere? _Maybe he’s here,_ she thought, head lowered, biting her lip. Sansa couldn’t decide whether to go and talk to him. Lost in thought, she shouldered her gym bag and headed to the kitchen to grab some food.

The content of fridge was scarce, which was typical at the Lannisters’.  Most of the inhabitants usually go out to eat, so there was hardly enough food to make breakfast. Contemplating a half-empty jar of jam, Sansa sighed, wondering if there was bread and peanut butter in the cupboard to go with it when she felt a hand on her shoulder; she swiveled on her heels, ready to put on her mask of indifference in case Joffrey or Cersei had decided to sneak up on her. Relief flooded her when she saw Tommen’s full cheeks.

“Hey,” the boy said. There was something almost sheepish in the way he addressed her, and she wondered what was going on. “So you were at the yoga studio?”

The answer was pretty obvious as she still wore her Lululemon bra and pants and had left her rolled up yoga mat next to the kitchen door. Sansa nodded silently.

“Good, good.” Tommen did his best not to meet her eyes, looking first past her, at the silvery fridge door, then briefly glancing at her face before finding something else on her left to fix his gaze upon.

“Is there something wrong, Tommen?” she asked in a quiet undertone. Now he was really worrying her.

The boy shook his head with a reassuring smile. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that… it’s hard to find the right words when you want to have a serious conversation with someone.” He paused long enough to make her envision a dozen scenarios for potential bad news, then he added, looking at her in the eye this time: “I know what Joffrey’s been doing to you.”

Sansa stared at him, speechless. She had always seen him as the kindest member of the Lannister family. Myrcella was nice too, but Tommen had always had that genuine concern for other people that exasperated his mother and made him truly endearing to Sansa. _And now that Myrcella lives on the other side of the country..._

“It’s so disgusting-”

“He didn’t hurt me, Tommen,” she cut him off, as soon as she realized his voice was shaking. _He didn’t hurt me,_ she told herself. _Not physically, anyway._ The boy needed to be reassured.

“I know why he’s doing this… because of this girl, Margaery. But he can’t use you to get her attention. That was a really fucked up thing he did, when he took you out the other night and made as if you were together, for real, you know.” Silence stretched in the kitchen as Sansa closed the fridge door and wondered where their exchange was going. Hands shoved in his pockets, Tommen went on: “What did my brother do to make you… play the part of the happy girlfriend?”

His question was met with a poor smile. _What can I possibly tell him?_

“Sansa, I’m not Joffrey. You can tell me. I won’t tell Mom either, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Very well. He threatened me. Told me I’d be accused of cheating on finals if I didn’t… cooperate. As for your mother, she threatened me too, but for a different reason- she doesn’t want Joffrey to date Margaery so she demanded that I win him back.”

Tommen’s eyes widened like saucers and Sansa heard him curse under his breath.

“Now I’m French-kissing your brother so that I don’t get into trouble on campus. I guess you can say I’ve hit rock bottom.”

He gaped, then as his eyes fell to the floor, she asked herself what was worse: the feel of Joffrey’s lips on hers or his little brother’s horrified look when she had confirmed what he suspected. She felt dirty and even humiliated because Tommen used to look up to her and now when he looked at her, he just saw a girl who let his brother use her as a toy to keep her good grades.

“You can’t keep doing this, Sansa. _This_ has to stop.”

“Don’t you think I know it? But what can I do if I don’t want to lose what I worked for?”

Tommen held her gaze silently, unable to offer a solution. _There’s no way out: I knew it,_ she thought. What she saw in the boy's green eyes - equal parts concern and compassion - made her feel slightly guilty. _Am I right to confide in him about what’s going on with Joffrey? Is it right to tell him all these things? Joffrey’s still Tommen’s brother, after all._

“I- I will help you. I don’t know how yet, but… I will, Sansa.”

She shook her head with an embarrassed smile. _He wants to play the hero. Why am I not surprised?_

“There’s something else…” he trailed off. “I’ve been talking to Sandor.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she felt like her knees were about give out.

“Let’s talk about it in a more... quiet place.” And with that, he led her out of the kitchen and through the hallways to his bedroom.

Tommen’s room was filled with books, and cups and medals that he had won, but it looked cosy with the two big bean beds for the cats. Tommen crashed on his bed while Sansa picked the old armchair with the armrest that Ser Pounce had used as a scratching post.

“I- I know what’s going on between you two, Sansa.” Another silence, then the boy hurried to explain: “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mom or Joffrey! I swear! The thing is, when you pay attention to people, like I think I do, you end up noticing things they try to keep secret. I walked in on you doing yoga together once, I saw how he looked at you. I noticed how he yelled at everyone and became a real asshole once Joffrey started taking you out again… I just put two and two together.”

She let out a deep sigh. _Somebody had to find out someday, I guess._ Tommen didn’t look like he wanted to take advantage of his discovery, or like he had some sinister ulterior motive. His green eyes shone with sympathy when she glanced at him again.

“So what do you intend to do with this information?” Despite her attempts to sound calm and composed, her voice betrayed her anxiety.

“Nothing. I just want to help you and Sandor. He’s miserable, you are miserable - even if you don’t let it show. Talk to him, Sansa.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s been avoiding me when I needed him the most! And to be honest, I don’t even know where to start. He must believe I’m going through some gold-digger phase and that I was not sincere when-” she stopped short, remembering their kiss. _Tommen doesn’t have to know._

“I don’t need the details,” Tommen whispered, as if he could read her mind. “And for your information, I told Sandor you couldn’t be with my brother _willingly_ . I wasn’t sure at that time, but I told him _something_ made you kiss Joff and follow him everywhere.”

_Interesting._ “Did Sandor believe you?” she asked.

Her hopes were crushed the second Tommen hung his head. “He cursed, said I was a bloody fool and that I’d better grow up before girls start to take advantage of me.”

_I knew it._ She could feel Tommen’s gaze. She knew he was disappointed and felt sorry for her.

“You have to talk to him,” the boy insisted. “You will convince him.”

“Sandor trusts you, Tommen. If Sandor turned a deaf ear to you, he won’t listen to me!”

With his head cradled in his hands, Joffrey’s little brother looked thoughtful and an awkward silence fell on them. In the end, Sansa pushed herself from the armchair and said she had to leave; not that she was in a hurry, but anything was better than stay there and lament her fate.

As she walked to the door, Tommen seemed to regain energy. “You know what?” he said, jumping to his feet. “You need to take your mind off things and so do I. How about we go to the movies tonight? I need to finish my paper on the Civil War, but I will be free afterwards…”

His burst of energy made her chuckle. “Okay, so there’s this one movie you want to watch and nobody will take you to the movie theater. Let me guess…  it’s some action movie with cowboys, zombies and aliens mixing it up?”

Tommen’s eyes widened and he gaped before protesting: “I don’t even know what movies are playing now in the local theater! I’m gonna check, find some movie we’ll both enjoy and I’ll text you when I’m ready to go.”

“Sounds good.” Opening the door, she flashed a smile at him and walked away.

* * *

 When her phone buzzed, she was putting on her white Converse. The shoes put the final touches to her rather casual outfit: black and white loose striped dress, black tote and sunglasses. She grabbed her phone and as expected, she saw that Tommen had sent her a text.

_I found the perfect movie but we have just enough time to get there._

_Great!_

_Meet me in the garage._

_I’m on my way._

At first, Sansa had wondered if it really was a good idea, but she had made an effort for Tommen, who had been so nice to her. Now she told herself this was maybe what she needed- a night away from the Lannisters’ mansion, with someone who wasn’t playing games and who genuinely cared for her. _Not everyone’s a douchebag in this family,_ she mused, running down the stairs and pushing the garage door open.

Under the bright neon lights, half the parking spots were empty - Joffrey and his mother were still out, as well as Tywin. Tommen was nowhere to be seen though and she started to frown, wondering why the lights were on and why he would tell her to meet him there if he wasn’t ready to go…

A noise on her left startled her; she spun on her heels and saw a silhouette leaning against one of the pillars. Black jeans, black leather jacket and T-shirt…  Sandor Clegane wore his off-duty clothes. _What-_

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. The low rumble of his voice made her shiver; she took comfort in the certainty he was too far from her to notice the goosebumps on her forearms.

She stammered: “I- I’m waiting for Tommen. We’re going to the movies.”

It was Sandor’s turn to look surprised. “That’s funny because _I’m_ supposed to take Tommen to the movies. The boy didn’t say you’d join us…”

Panic washed over Sansa as she fished in her bag, looking for her phone. Tommen had just sent her another text.

_Are you already in the garage?_

_Yes, Tommen, where are you?_

_Are you alone?_

_Sandor’s here. We don’t understand what’s going on._

_I said I would help you. You’ll thank me later…_

At that very moment, a realization dawned upon Sansa. Footsteps echoed under the concrete roof, until his shadow covered her trembling hands still clutching her phone. _It’s a trap,_ she told herself, feeling a knot in her stomach.

“So he’s not coming, is he?” Sandor spat. He towered above her, forcing Sansa to crane her neck if she wanted to look at him in the eye. She took in the traces that sleepless nights had left around his eyes and the lopsided smile that gave him a bitter look.

“No, he’s not.”

Her answer, a piteous mumble uttered with eyes falling to the grayish floor, elicited a dark laugh. He retrieved his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans, lit one and took a long drag, glancing at her from time to time. “So Tommen lured me into a trap because he wants me to listen to whatever bullshit you’re going to say. He’s bloody naive!”

Putting back her phone in her bag, Sansa sighed. “I wasn’t aware-”

“Whatever.”

Sansa scanned her surroundings: the concrete walls, ceiling and floor, the fancy cars with bodies shining under the neon lights. _So this is how Tommen plays cupid,_ she mused. _He could have picked a more romantic place..._

“He trapped me too: we were supposed to go to the movies!” she explained.

He pointed a finger at her, exhaling smoke. “You already said that, little bird.” Sandor started walking back and forth and she wondered what was going on behind his scowl.

“You can’t smoke in the garage,” she reminded him. The lady of the house forbade it.

“Fuck Cersei. I’m not staying anyway. Don’t want to bother the little shit’s girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend anymore!” she shouted.

In two strides, he closed the distance between them and ducked his head to bring them eye-to-eye. “You’re not his girlfriend? He takes you out, he kisses you, he posts pictures of you two, but you’re not his girlfriend? What are you then? His booty call, maybe?”

Before she could realize what was happening, Sansa heard a cracking sound very similar to that of a whip, then she felt a sting on her palm and Sandor’s cheek turned crimson. _What have I done?_ For a second, she stood there, gaping, then anger came back.

“Where were you when Cersei and Joffrey threatened me? When Joffrey forced a kiss on me and took pictures of us? You kissed me then you fled, and since that day you made sure not to spend a second alone with me.” She fought back tears, determined not to cry in front of him.

Sandor hardly held her gaze.  He swallowed hard, opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then seemed to give up. After an awkward silence the faint sound of an engine outside startled both of them.

“We can’t stay here,” he said in an undertone.

Nodding, she took his hand and led him out of the garage and upstairs. The family room and the hallways were deserted.  Making progress in the dark so as not to be seen, they reached Sansa’s room.

“Come in,” she whispered, not knowing what was next. She let go of his hand, closed the door behind them and sighed with relief as she gestured at the desk chair. Sandor sat down cautiously; in the meanwhile, she lowered herself to the floor, her back resting against the bed and her legs swung out to one side. Sandor’s fingers and palm had left a curious sensation on hers and now she missed his touch.

“What happened after Cersei’s arrival?” he rasped. “After I left you?”

During the next couple of minutes, she told him about the events of the past two weeks in minute detail, trying not to wallow in self-pity. Unease made her keep her eyes down and she nervously played with the shoelace of her Converse until she was finished.  When Sansa finally decided she couldn’t avoid his gaze any longer, she looked up to find Sandor’s intimidating form leaning forward in the desk chair, his features exuding so much anger it almost frightened her.

“Say something,” she urged him, wondering if he was still mad at her. “Please.”

“The little shit will pay for this. Cersei will pay for this. Is it what you want to hear?” He chuckled darkly as she sighed.

“Don’t do something stupid. I don’t want to be kicked out of school.

He got up and started pacing back and forth. “I already did something stupid: I didn’t believe you.”

_Is he going to apologize?_ She frowned deeply. For some reason, Sansa doubted he was familiar with apologies and she wondered what he sounded like when he made excuses for something. Craning her neck, she observed the nervous gestures of his hands, noticed how his jaw was set, and she waited.

“I shouldn’t have- I behaved like a moron… So typical of me…”

“Enough!” Sansa pushed herself from the floor and forced him to look at her by placing her hands on his shoulders. “There’s no point in beating yourself up. It won’t change anything.”

Before she finished her sentence, something about this features changed and he locked eyes with her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a silence.

How many times had she heard these simple words before? A thousand times? More? People said they were sorry about being late or for someone’s loss, about making too much noise and about whatever hardship Sansa had faced but these words sounded different in Sandor’s mouth. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. His tone revealed his uneasiness and the solemn way he had uttered these words gave them a depth she didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s over.” The second she heard herself say it was over, she realized Joffrey couldn’t hurt her anymore, that Sandor’s presence and support was enough to make her stronger. _Am I deluding myself? No,_ she decided, _I’m not._

Sandor’s gray eyes wandered from her forehead to her mouth and back; his fingers brushed her cheek, then the pad of his thumb traced a line from her neck to her collarbone. There was something very awkward about his gesture, yet Sansa found it endearing.

His breathing quickened, and as she made a point of holding his gaze, she asked herself if her heart beat faster. _I must be crazy,_ she thought, as he inched closer, then kissed her lips. _How is possible that it feels so good?_ Dating Joffrey had made her believe that kisses were either so-so or downright clumsy. Sandor didn’t only kiss her fervently, he had his hands on her back and on the side of her breast, he stole her breath; everything about his kiss convinced her this was just a beginning and he would never have enough of her. _This,_ she realized, _is exactly what I want._

They were both out of breath when Sandor broke their kiss while keeping his arms around her waist.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, burying her nose in his leather jacket, thinking out loud more than anything.

“It depends on what you want to do,” he offered. Sansa was glad he didn’t give her a turnkey solution, but inquired about her plans instead.

“Tommen is right- I can’t stay here forever,” she stated. “The thing is, I don’t know how I can leave this place unscathed.”

He led her to the bed, sat down on the mattress and made her sit on his lap. Placing soft kisses on her temple, cradling her imperceptibly, he remained silent for a while. “We will figure out something, little bird. I have to think about it. Between the two of us, we will make it.”

She relished his warmth and his touch. Head resting on his shoulder, she traced circles on the back of his hand. Later, yes, she would think about Joffrey and find a way to leave the Lannisters’ mansion; for now she just wanted to seize the moment…

Something buzzed against her upper arm, behind the thick leather of Sandor’s jacket. He cursed under his breath, retrieved his phone from his pocket and welcomed whatever message he had been sent with a long exhale. Sansa got up reluctantly. She knew what it meant: their moment was over, Joffrey needed Sandor and they would have to sneak and to lie to see each other again. In the meantime, they both had to keep playing their part in Joffrey’s farce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The yoga teacher’s remark about doing yoga alone vs. in a yoga studio with other people was inspired by what my own yoga teacher told us the other day. Sometimes inspiration is everywhere!


	9. Anjali Mudra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long have you been here?” she asked.  
> He shrugged, letting his eyes wander over her wet bikini. “Quite a while.”  
> Lately Sansa had realized that, when he was this close to her or when his stare became insistent, she was always looking for a way to change the subject. “As a matter of fact you’re in the best position to know that there are CCTV cameras here.” She pointed at one of the black cameras fixed to the wall on their left. Somehow the idea they were doing something they shouldn’t made the situation more exciting.  
> Sandor’s eyes diligently followed her stare then drifted back to Sansa.  
> “Sometimes cameras don’t work,” he rasped.  
>  _Does he mean…?_ “You turned them off?” she asked in disbelief. “What for?”  
>  “You know, little bird, sometimes the answer is in the question. I’m this guy who spends hours everyday watching recorded security camera footage and this morning I saw that my boss’ girlfriend or rather ex-girlfriend getting out of the swimming pool wearing this itsy-bitsy bikini then using the outdoor shower. What could I possibly have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by the amazing LadyCyprus: thank you so much!  
> 'Upward-Facing Dog' is back... To make up for not posting in a while, here's a long chapter with a scene I know some of you were waiting for. I hope you'll enjoy and if you feel so inclined, leave a comment.

The long rectangle of the infinity pool reflected the blue sky and contrasted with the white granite decking. ‘ _An invitation to take a swim’,_ Cersei told her guests with a triumphant grin whenever they complimented her on the swimming pool and on the breathtaking view the Lannisters enjoyed from the patio.

Thoroughly cleaned by the staff on a daily basis, the patio enchanted the guests who usually gushed about the view of the ocean. No one in the Lannister family truly appreciated the place though: Cersei and Tywin were too busy to take a dip and Tommen was not exactly the sporty type. As for Joffrey, he had had his ‘swimming pool phase’ when he thought pool parties were cool. Alas, pool parties didn’t live up to his expectations - not enough nudity, too much vomit for his liking - so he had stopped inviting his friends to get wasted by the infinity pool. The only member of the family who loved this spot and could spend days there was Myrcella; she used to sunbathe every day during the summer vacation. Since she had left the Lannisters’ mansion, her blue and white striped sun lounger remained empty, and Sansa knew for sure Cersei’s chest constricted when she walked past it.

Gorgeous but deserted, the patio was the ideal spot for a yoga morning sequence. Sansa snuck out of her room and after a brief pause in the kitchen to drink a glass of water and nibble at a dried fig, she rolled out her mat on the granite decking. _Somebody should enjoy this place and admire the view._

Her morning practice was mainly about stretching her spine and warming up the muscles after sleeping curled up all night. After a couple of breaths in extended child’s pose, she did some cat cow, challenged herself by alternating planks and downward-facing dog poses. Birds chirped, drowning out the faint gurgling sound of the infinity pool; the crisp morning air gave her goosebumps and the view brought a smile to her lips.

After twenty minutes Sansa considered herself satisfied and drew her palms together at her heart. After several years of yoga, the Anjali mudra had become so common for her she tended to forget what the hand gesture was about. Her second yoga teacher, a woman in her sixties who was obsessed with Indian culture, had told her once Anjali meant _‘offering’_ : outside of India people often mistook it for a ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ gesture, but it was much more than that. _‘It’s an honoring of yourself, of the people you’re with, of your surroundings,’_ her teacher used to say. The breathtaking view of the ocean reminded her of this simple truth: sometimes it was important to be realize what life gave you. She pressed her palms against each other and bowed slightly, feeling grateful.

When she stepped off her mat, the lapping sound coming from the swimming pool caught her attention; the blue water looked tempting enough. _‘An invitation to take a swim’? Why not, after all…_

In less than two minutes, she rolled her mat, brought it back to her room, dropped her yoga attire to the floor and put on her white bikini. After grabbing a plush bath towel, she was good to go.

 _No one on sight…_ The place was still empty when she opened the French door once again and stepped out of her room. _Good,_ she smiled, crossing the patio. Sansa wouldn’t get into trouble if someone saw her swimming but she simply didn’t feel like running into Cersei or Joffrey.

As a precaution, she first sat on the ledge of the swimming pool and dipped her toes into the water; she stayed there for a minute or two before diving in. At that time of the day, water felt cool and she had to swim laps not to shiver. As she wasn’t used to swim alone, she soon got tired of it, stopped by the ledge and rested her forearms onto it. She swept her surroundings, trying to discern the faraway sound of the waves behind that of the infinity pool.

The last week had been a complicated one, between the role Joffrey forced her to play in his crazy attempt to seduce Margaery and the few moments she had stolen to talk to Sandor. He had done his best to reassure her and he had repeated they’d manage to run away from the Lannisters soon. Sansa nevertheless couldn’t help worry about the details. _When are we finally going to leave?_ If _we leave… And imagining we manage to run away, how is Cersei going to react?_ The more she thought about it, the more she dreaded Cersei’s reaction.

Two days ago, she had heard people arguing and shouting in the family room as she came back from the campus. The high-pitched voice of course belonged to Cersei but it took Sansa some time to recognize the male one. It wasn’t Tywin, for the patriarch never needed to shout to make people obey his orders, and it wasn’t Joffrey either - she knew he was in town with his friends. Once in the hallway leading to the family room, Sansa froze. She didn’t want Cersei to turn on her if she showed up in the middle of an argument with whomever was bold enough to contradict Joffrey’s mother. When Sansa’s hands got so clammy she was about to drop the books she had borrowed from the campus library, she decided to go outside and walk around the house to get back to her room. She was already turning around when the door opened and a twangy voice called: “Good afternoon Sansa.”

She swiveled on her heels and saw a man of small stature with dirty blond hair. _Tyrion, of course. Who else would challenge Cersei?_

“Tyrion... How are you doing?” Her perfunctory smile and fake cheerfulness made him snort. She stayed there, rooted to the spot and unable to look away as the door behind Tyrion turned on its hinges, revealing his sister’s glare. “I’d better leave you two.” Was her apologetic tone enough to calm Cersei down? Sansa’s nails dug deep in her palm.

“Were you listening?” the blond woman hissed. She folded her arms about her chest.

Sansa frantically shook her head but before she could collect herself and give Cersei a convincing explanation, Tyrion preempted her: “Don’t be ridiculous, Cersei, she just arrived! Not everyone has bad intentions.” He looked at his sister over his shoulder, with what Sansa imagined to be a wicked smile.

Leaning against the door frame, Cersei rolled her eyes.

“Concerning what we discussed earlier, dear….” His tone suddenly changed, making Sansa’s stomach pull into a tight knot. “I’ll find a way to make you pay for what you did.” Tyrion turned his back to his sister and waddled down the hallway. As he moved past Sansa, he briefly glanced at her and took in her puzzled look. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something… See you, Sansa.”

A couple of seconds later, the two women heard the slam of a door; they observed each other carefully, then Sansa almost bolted, convinced something bad was going to happen between the Lannister siblings. _I’d rather not be here when the shit hits the fan._

48 hours after this incident, tension was still thick in the Lannisters’ mansion: Cersei was on edge, ready to snap at people who annoyed her and that was why Sansa did her best to avoid the blond woman.

Running her wet palm over her face, Sansa tried to focus on the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, 100 feet below. _What time is it? I’d better get going._ It was Saturday so she didn’t have any classes; she had nonetheless realized that keeping herself busy helped whenever the atmosphere became electric.

She climbed the ladder out of the swimming pool, grabbed her towel and headed to the outdoor shower, a few feet away. The outdoor shower was surrounded on three sides by white granite walls to match the decking. Sansa hung her towel to the hook, turned on the shower and sighed with relief when she felt hot water on her skin. Closing her eyes, she stood still, letting the water rinse off any trace of chlorine.

 _Maybe I should go to the campus library and spend the day there._ The campus library was a nice place to hide when the Lannisters were in the mood to rip each other to shreds. Sansa wasn’t even sure Joffrey knew where the library was, three years after his arrival at the campus. A smile played about her lips at this thought, then it quickly vanished. _Sandor…_ She had barely seen him the day before and she wouldn’t see him that day either if she drove to the campus. _What did he say? Does he have to accompany Joffrey somewhere today?_ It was probably a better idea to talk to him or to message him before going anywhere. If they were lucky, they might be able to have lunch together.

The warmth of water and the sound it made running down the granite walls quelled her anxiety. _Life is good_ , her first yoga teacher used to repeat. It was exactly how she felt, standing under the shower.

In the end she turned it off, wiped her face with her hands and wrung her hair out before tentatively reaching for the towel. Her fingers only found the cold and rough surface of granite where she thought she had left it. She turned around and suppressed a cry when she saw Sandor with the towel tossed over his shoulder. His wicked smile made her heart beat faster.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

He shrugged, letting his eyes wander over her wet bikini. “Quite a while.”

Lately Sansa had realized that, when he was this close to her or when his stare became insistent, she was always looking for a way to change the subject. “As a matter of fact you’re in the best position to know that there are CCTV cameras here.” She pointed at one of the black cameras fixed to the wall on their left. Somehow the idea they were doing something they shouldn’t made the situation more exciting.

Sandor’s eyes diligently followed her stare then drifted back to Sansa.

“Sometimes cameras don’t work,” he rasped.

 _Does he mean…?_ “You turned them off?” she asked in disbelief. “What for?”

“You know, little bird, sometimes the answer is in the question. I’m this guy who spends hours everyday watching recorded security camera footage and this morning I saw that my boss’ girlfriend or rather _ex_ -girlfriend getting out of the swimming pool wearing this itsy-bitsy bikini then using the outdoor shower. What could I possibly have in mind?”

Holding his gaze, she bit her lower lip.

“I only turned off this one,” he explained, as if it could reassure her.

“What if someone finds out?”

He burst out laughing and shrugged. “Goosebumps?” His fingertips ghosted along the skin of her upper arm, his touch making her shiver even more. As he ducked his head she stood on tiptoe to make their kiss easier.

 _Ravenous… He’s ravenous,_ she couldn’t help thinking when his tongue met hers. In the meanwhile he had lifted her from the ground; Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle.

“Your shirt is going to be wet,” she warned him in an undertone. Her wet body had already left darker marks on the light gray shirt. He laughed at that and pulled her even closer. As he kissed her collarbone, the rock of his hips told her he wanted more than kisses and if she was being honest, Sansa wanted more too. _Come on, Sansa, say it…_ She cupped his scarred cheek: “Let’s go to my bedroom.”

She had whispered these words but Sandor’s brutal reaction made her wonder if she had not shouted instead. He stopped his ministrations, set her back on her feet and looked at her with something akin to defiance. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat before she heard him say: “Are you serious, little bird?”

“Never been more serious.”

The gray eyes became darker. _Is he realizing what I meant?_ As he stared at her she let out a deep breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Without uttering a word he scooped her up and carried her across the patio to her room. Once there, he set her down on her feet again then closed the French door behind them. Sansa’s eyes were fixed on his large shoulders; he stood still for a second, after which he drew the curtains with an impatient gesture that did nothing to calm the erratic beating of her heart. In three strides he crossed the room, locked the door and turned on the bedside lamp before glancing at her.

Finally they were in a place where nobody could see them.

Without fully realizing what she was doing, Sansa had stepped backwards until her back was almost against the wall. Her bed was a little further to the side and there she stood, between the French window and the footboard, staring at Sandor who closed the distance between them.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Only a foot of space separated them. Flat dark hair shadowed half his face, showing only the glistening of his eye.

She nodded vehemently. “Yes.” The towel was still hanging over his shoulder: Sansa clutched to it mindlessly before boring into Sandor’s eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

They kissed again, without rushing things this time, then Sandor helped her remove her bikini top. Her skin was still damp so he leaned forward to gently dab her skin with the towel.

Sansa had already felt his hungry stare on her breasts, a couple of weeks before, at the end of a heated yoga class. She read the same lust in Sandor’s eyes, yet the atmosphere was different today.  Even though she couldn’t read Sandor’s mind, Sansa knew for sure he had been thinking about this moment since that day, just like her. They had had time to imagine what their first time together would be like.

The second his long fingers replaced the softness of the towel on her skin, she realized the gap between what she had experienced with Joffrey so far and what was happening at this very moment. _‘My mind’s fucking dirty,’_ he had confessed a few days ago, after exchanging kisses with her in the solitude of the garage. _‘There’s a couple of things I want to do to you…’_ His sentence remained unfinished, as if there was no appropriate way to voice his thoughts. Yes, some of the things he had in mind might scandalize her - calling ‘hot-blooded’ a man who could hardly control himself when she did a puppy pose was an understatement - but he was also able to look at her and to touch her reverently, which was completely new for Sansa.

He now had her full breast in the cup of his hand and his thumb rubbed her hard nipple, over and over, putting a throb between her legs. Glancing at him, she took in the lust on his face. She closed her eyelids briefly, opened her eyes again to let them wander from his hand to the closed door; in the meanwhile he never stopped watching her, mouth ajar. Afraid somebody could hear them, she had done her best to remain perfectly silent until now but when she felt his mouth on her nipple, she couldn’t help moaning. The sensation was so new and so sweet - someone pleasuring her and tending to her needs - she couldn’t understand why she had been ignoring this for so long.

Her nipples were reddish and swollen when Sandor stopped his ministrations to kneel down and pick up the towel which had fallen onto the floor. With the same careful gestures he helped her remove her bikini bottom. Her swimsuit was now a small heap of white fabric on the rug; her eyes met Sandor’s.

With unhurried gestures he wiped the remaining droplets on her skin, first on her calves then going up. The moment the towel dropped to the floor, she said ‘yes’ again, answering his silent question. His large hands framed her hips; he gently pushed her body backwards until her back was flushed against the wall. Closing her eyes, she felt his fingers between her legs, barely brushing at first, then sliding between her folds and rubbing her clit. The low groan Sandor let out revealed she was as wet as he probably expected her to be.

Soon enough he removed his hand, leaned forward and flicked his tongue over her slit. Sansa moaned, louder this time, making him stop all of a sudden.

“You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” he asked, disguising his smile with a frown. The situation visibly amused him, unless it was Sansa’s confused look that made the whole thing entertaining. “I didn’t intend to gag you but…”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“Good. Where were we?”

 _‘Where were we?’ How dare he?_ He flashed a grin at her before leaning forward again and resuming his task, this time sucking the sensitive flesh. Sansa made huge efforts to remain as silent as possible, going so far as to clench her fists. After a short while, Sandor drew one of her legs over his shoulder. _Even closer…_ In other circumstances she would have been afraid of losing her balance; Sandor’s tongue and the pressure building inside her monopolized her attention though. Despite her precarious position, she let herself go until she couldn’t control a single muscle of her body, until she felt like something was exploding behind her closed eyelids.

For a second or two she remained perfectly still, the sound of her own rapid and uneven breathing surprising her. When her eyes fluttered open, Sandor was studying her face; in his gaze she saw a range of emotions from curiosity to amusement and from disbelief to fascination. For a while words were caught in her throat, then she looked at him from head to foot and asked: “Why are you still fully clothed?”

Sandor still wore his light gray shirt and the black pants he often paired with a jacket of the same color when he had to follow Joffrey somewhere. Somehow it made her even more aware of her nakedness. _Isn’t it weird? Maybe I should have made him take off his clothes.... Is it what he expected?_

His chuckle swept Sansa’s doubts before they began to creep in. “I'm not off duty, little bird. The brat could call me any minute.” The mere mention of Joffrey could have ruined the moment; Sandor’s heavy gaze on her curves revealed his boss wasn’t his priority for now though.

“So you’re leaving?” Tilting her head to the side and resting one hand on her hip she looked down at him, realizing afterward she sounded more provocative than she intended.

“Don’t think so,” he replied. His voice was husky enough to send shivers down her spine as she watched him raising to his full height.

Without asking for his permission Sansa started unbuttoning his shirt; he didn’t protest and kept observing her until she untucked it from his pants. Under the thick cotton fabric, several scars crisscrossed his chest, leaving pale lines between patches of chest hair. Sansa didn’t dare ask where these scars came from: it wasn't the right time or place and she wanted to believe they would have other occasions to discuss Sandor’s past. The longing she read in his eyes was the only thing that mattered at the moment. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, but before she could go any further Sandor led her to the bed. He sat there, took her hand in his and made her straddle him. As before, they kissed; Sandor’s arm coiled around the small of her back so that she could feel his hard member. In the end she freed it from Sandor’s boxers in a slow but determined gesture. After she lifted herself ever so slightly, he rubbed the head of his cock against her slit, claimed her mouth once more then he nuzzled into her neck.

“Sit on my cock.”

Sansa was happy to oblige him; he nevertheless guided her, offering words of comfort when she winced in pain because he was bigger than she expected. Head buried in the crook of his neck, fingers pressing in his flesh, Sansa waited for the pain to go away. Her movements were somewhat tentative at first, and she let Sandor thrust inside her. After a short while though, she began to rock her hips to meet his. A glance at his face confirmed the back-and-forth movement of her hips was exactly what he expected. He grunted and cupped one of her breasts.

Somehow she knew what he was doing. _He wants me to come again but while he’s inside me._ Sandor confirmed her intuition when his hand left her breast to rub her clit. She arched her back even more, bucked her hips against him until it was _too much_. Her inner muscles clenched around his cock as she tried to cling on to the pleasure overwhelming her, yet before long the fleeting sensation was gone, leaving her out of breath again.

Days later, she would realize the lustful haze she was in blurred her memories of what had transpired _after_. She felt dizzy but she distinctly felt Sandor kissing her once more and muttering something into her ear before pounding inside her and finding his own release. Neither of them wanted to put an end to the moment they had had together, let alone to go back to their daily routines, so they stayed in each other’s arms for a while, first panting then just listening to each other’s breathing as it returned to normal.

A deep sigh expressed Sandor’s reluctance before he told Sansa he needed to clean himself up in the bathroom. She knew it was time for him to go. Wrapped in her towel, she watched him get dressed once he came back from her bathroom. Much to her surprise, his gestures became more brisk, more impatient by the minute and he ended up cursing as he combed his flat hair.

“What’s going on, Sandor?” At this point, she wondered if she had done something wrong.

“Fuck…”

Frowning deeply, she hugged herself. Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw his expression changing, tension giving way to sheepishness as he planted himself in front of her.

“You make me- You make me happy,” he mumbled, hardly looking at her.

Without waiting for her answer, he went on: “Sounds lame, right? Fuck, I knew it sounded lame.”

Sansa’s eyes rolled skywards. Suppressing a chuckle, she took his hand. “It doesn’t sound lame. Does it sound lame if I tell you you make _me_ happy?”

His mouth dangled open and Sansa bit her tongue not to laugh. “It sounds strange,” he commented. “Kind of disturbing.”

“Well, as disturbing as it is, you’d better get used to it. _You_ make me happy. You gave me something worth fighting for.” _He’s going to replay this conversation over and over in his head,_ she mused, relishing in his confused look.

One last, tentative kiss on her lips and he was walking to the door.

* * *

For a couple of days Sansa had trouble focusing on her assignments for her classes or on anything else. The tiniest details brought her back to the events of this Saturday morning. The car ahead of hers had the exact same color as Sandor’s shirt; when the AC was so cold it gave her gooseflesh, she remembered how Sandor had asked if she was cold before they had started kissing... Every time she closed her eyes, memories flooded her and she indulged herself in. Sometimes people frowned because she so obviously had her head in the clouds and they probably wondered where the good listener and attentive girl they knew had gone. It didn’t annoy her though. _People can’t guess what happened to me, can they?_

Whenever he got an occasion Sandor texted her, saying something she found thoughtful and adorable before adding some self-deprecating remark that made her tsk-tsk. _“Can’t help thinking about you and about all the things I want to do to you. I’ll bore the shit out of you before I list half of them.”_ _So what? Is he trying to prove he’s not good at sending love texts? He convinced himself he’s terrible at these things and he doesn’t realize how endearing he sounds._

It was 7 PM and she had just got back from the campus; as she usually did when she spent all day between the lecture hall and the library, she went to the kitchen and grabbed something to make herself a snack. There was grape in the fruit dish for a change and she considered herself lucky. With a contented sigh, she sat on one of the bar stools and reread his message.

_Can’t help thinking about you and about all the things I want to do to you. I’ll bore the shit out of you before I list half of them._

_Just try to bore me, Sandor._

Her answer made her smile as she typed it. Maybe he would understand this time. Maybe it would take her hundreds of texts, thousands of conversations to make him realize her feelings were as deep as his and that they could have something he thought impossible. The fact he tried to find any opportunity to talk to her and that he kept texting her otherwise proved he wanted their relationship to work and in the end, it was more important than a couple of self-deprecating remarks.

Lost in thought, Sansa didn’t hear Meryn Trant coming in. “D’you know where’s Joffrey?” he asked her without any preamble.

She shook her head. Joffrey could be with Margaery or on a space rocket going to Mars, she didn’t give a damn.

“Is it urgent?” she nevertheless inquired, bringing a grape to her mouth and trying to make small talk. _I’m crazy._ _As if anyone wanted to make small talk with Meryn Trant..._

Stroking his red beard, Meryn Trant squinted at her before uttering some disparaging comment; he shifted from foot to foot, then retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“It’s me. Yeah… I’m sorry to bother you, Joffrey.” At this point Trant’s interlocutor raised his voice so that the man had to pull the phone away from his ear. “OK, look, there’s a problem, maybe a security breach. I was checking the security camera system and I found _something_.”

A shiver ran down Sansa’s spine. All of a sudden she remembered how Sandor had bragged about turning off one of the cameras on Saturday morning and how he had gallantly shrugged off her concern. _Is it_ this _camera Trant is talking about?_

“One of the camera stopped working for one hour on Saturday, then it started recording again…”

 _Oh no…_ The speed of her pulse increased with every second. Unaware of the panic overwhelming her, Meryn Trant leaned against the counter, listening to his boss. “Yes, I know… I checked the camera, nothing’s wrong. Someone turned it off, that’s what I’m telling you… No. No, I don’t think so... I was with you when it happened!”

Without a single glance at her, he strode to the kitchen door and started pacing the hallway. From where she sat, she could still hear his voice.“Clegane was supposed to watch these fucking cameras. It’s that asshole’s responsibility, not mine! Isn’t he with you right now? Can’t you ask him?”

She pushed what remained of the grapes away from her, took her phone and hurriedly began to type a message.

_Trant found out you turned off one of the security cameras and he just told Joffrey. What do we do?_


	10. The Lion's Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa had taken refuge in her bedroom and pretended to study one of her history books. At 8 o’clock, she heard Cersei’s coupé in the yard then the clicking of her heels on the floor. Later on, she made out Tommen’s voice but she wasn’t sure if he had come back home with his mother or if some of his friends’ parents had given him a ride. She therefore stayed in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, her book open on her lap but her eyes fixed on the door, dreading what was next.  
> And then, around 9, the slam of a couple of doors announced the arrival of Joffrey, most likely with Sandor in tow. _The end is nigh._ From where she was, Sansa heard him shouting orders and summoning people to what used to be Robert’s office. There were protestations and questions, Tommen asked if Sansa should come too but Joffrey answered that it wasn’t her business. Finally the office door closed.  
>  Sansa waited a minute before sticking her head around the door and sneaking out of her bedroom, heart pounding in her chest. No one in sight. She couldn’t stay in her hiding place any longer and she needed to know what was going on in the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to LadyCyprus who edited this looong chapter!  
> This story is almost over. Next chapter will be the last.  
> Once again, YogaWithAdriene videos inspired one of the scenes. Those of you who are familiar with her videos will tell me if I get Adriene’s tone right or not...  
> After last update’s cliffhanger, a bit of melodrama for the Lannisters and for Sansan, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be fun… Hope you’ll enjoy it!

_Trant found out you turned off one of the security cameras and he just told Joffrey. What do we do?_

Once Meryn Trant had shuffled away and left her alone in the kitchen, she stared at the screen of her phone, hoping for a text. Her tone was alarming enough, she thought, to prompt an immediate response.

The grapes she had eaten with pleasure moments ago had left a sour taste in her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut with a pained look. _It’s not possible._ Yet it was. Sandor would get fired, at the very least. The minutes were ticking away, but Sandor remained silent. Had Joffrey told him about the CCTV and already fired him? Anything was possible with Joffrey, when he went ballistic.

Should she pack her things and run away while it was still possible? The mere notion of Joffrey finding out what was going on between his girlfriend and his employee, thanks to Trant’s revelation, brought a deep queasiness to her stomach. Sandor would also get fired in this case. Or maybe something worse? She bit her lower lip. It was more difficult however to imagine what Joffrey would do with her. She already felt like a prisoner and the Lannisters controlled her family’s assets. Joffrey would find something, though. _He always does._

Sighing deeply, she tried to reassure herself. After all, neither Trant nor Joffrey knew her comings and goings near the swimming pool were the reason Sandor had turned off the camera: they couldn’t imagine Sandor had joined her right after turning it off. This idea somewhat calmed her nerves. As long as Joffrey ignored what the head of security had done with his girlfriend, Sandor might lose his job but he would be safe.

Her phone buzzed. The sight of a new text, with Sandor’s name attached to it, caused a surge of adrenaline in her body.

_Fuck_

She sighed. Sandor’s messages tended to be even more terse than his answers in a face-to-face conversation. Her feet moved of their own accord towards the patio as she dialed his phone number; she dashed across the white granite decking and put as much space between the house and herself as she could. The sun was setting and soon darkness would swallow the mansion. _No one will see me here._ When he finally picked up, she was out of breath.

“Hey, it’s me. Shouldn’t we get away when there’s still time?” she asked before he could say anything, her voice faltering towards the end of the sentence. “I can pack my stuff really quick.” Gulping painfully, she scanned her surroundings, making sure no one was listening but there was only the cacti in several sizes and forms Cersei had had planted by the patio, the Italian marble sculpture of a roaring lion and the gentle breeze of the evening.

“Nope. Look, I can’t talk to you now. Stay exactly where you are and calm the fuck down.”

‘ _Calm down?’ Excuse me?_ She opened her mouth to shout then remembered where she was and what was at stake. “How am I supposed to calm down?” she hissed. “Joffrey knows what you did! What _we_ did!”

A long, excruciating silence welcomed her interrogations. In the end, Sandor replied: “He doesn’t. He doesn’t know a single thing about us.” Another pause. “Sorry, I can’t talk. I’ve got this. Trust me, OK?”

Then he was gone. How did Sandor intend to deal with a furious Joffrey? He of all people ought to know how Joffrey reacted when he felt betrayed. Sandor’s outward self-confidence didn’t make any sense to her. She kept staring at the screen of her phone in case he called her back then she put it in the back pocket of her jeans and hugged herself. Looking at the purple sky then at the hills surrounding the house, she felt like the ground was falling away under her feet. Tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes when she heard someone behind her. Expecting to see Meryn Trant again, she tried to compose herself before turning around. Instead of Trant’s red and square face she only saw the void at first, then she lowered her gaze. Tyrion Lannister observed her, a cunning smile playing about his lips. Under the scrutiny of his mismatched eyes her panic increased. _I look guilty,_ she thought.

“Good evening, Sansa. Well, that was quite an interesting conversation.”

“What? What are you talking about? How long have you been here?” Arms folded, she tried to stay calm. She nonetheless knew her act was pointless; people like the Imp smelled out lies.

Tyrion shrugged, then gave her one of his most irritating looks. “Long enough to know you’ve done something terrible with someone else and you’re considering sneaking off.”

“I- I’m-”

“Let’s skip the awkward part where you try to convince me you don’t want to leave this place and you’re madly in love with my nephew. You save your breath, I save some patience,” he said, tilting his head to one side then to the other one. “I know you want to leave and I have an idea who you want to run away with.”

 _He’s telling a lie to get at the truth._ Sansa shook her head. “No, you don’t. You don’t know who I was talking to. I never said their name.”

A chortle escaped his lips. “Actually, I know who you were talking to and if you want my opinion it’s quite an unexpected choice. Bad-tempered, broody… Disfigured, even…  Not the kind of man girls label ‘cute’ as far as I know.”

“You’re not a girl.”

“Still, a very unexpected choice.”

“You expected me to fall for a short, blond, witty guy who sounds more and more self-satisfied every time I meet him?” _You’re pushing your luck,_ she scolded herself, immediately dreading the consequences of her outspokenness.

Tyrion snorted. “You’ve got more backbone than Cersei imagines.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked, hardly softening her tone. If he had uncovered the truth, if he knew she wanted to leave, why would she handle him with kid gloves?

Tyrion grinned in the most annoying fashion. “I don’t want anything from you. I want to help you!”

“Why would you help me?” _This is absurd. If he thinks I’m going to fall for this..._

“Do you watch old school westerns, Sansa?” As she shook her head, he went on: “Haven’t you heard somewhere the saying ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’? It is exactly the same. You hate Cersei? Welcome to the club! At this very moment, it seems to me that the best way to get my revenge on her is to help you run away.”

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

The Imp shrugged, then took a step back. “Suit yourself.” He turned around, waddled towards the house and stopped mid-stride. “Your secret is safe with me, by the way,” he added without ever glancing back at her.

She stayed outside for a while, playing their conversation over and over in her head, unable to decide if she could trust him or not.

* * *

No messages, let alone a phone call. For the hundredth time, Sansa glanced at her phone but she already knew the answer: Sandor remained awfully quiet since their brief exchange one hour ago. She had taken refuge in her bedroom and pretended to study one of her history books. Meryn Trant was somewhere in the big house - he shuffled between the hallway and the family room. At 8 o’clock, she heard Cersei’s coupé in the yard then the clicking of her heels on the floor. Later on, she made out Tommen’s voice but she wasn’t sure if he had come back home with his mother or if some of his friends’ parents had given him a ride. As sympathetic as Tommen had been lately, she didn’t feel bold enough to go and talk to him. She therefore stayed in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, her book open on her lap but her eyes fixed on the door, dreading what was next.

And then, around 9, the slam of a couple of doors announced the arrival of Joffrey, most likely with Sandor in tow. _The end is nigh._ From where she was, Sansa heard him shouting orders and summoning people to what used to be Robert’s office. There were protestations and questions, Tommen asked if Sansa should come too but Joffrey answered that it wasn’t her business. Finally the office door closed.

Sansa waited a minute before sticking her head around the door and sneaking out of her bedroom, heart pounding in her chest. No one in sight. She couldn’t stay in her hiding place any longer and she needed to know what was going on in the office. In case someone walked in on her while she eavesdropped, she grabbed her book and sat down in the family room. As the office was next to it, she could hear Joffrey yelling at Sandor, Cersei only interrupting him to ask more details about the whole CCTV thing.

Even behind the door, it was easy to imagine those who were gathered in the office. Joffrey’s face was probably reddening as he roared and spluttered; on the brief occasions when she said something, Cersei sounded incredulous. Sansa pictured Trant standing in a corner, hands buried in his pockets, lapping it up as Sandor listened to his boss’ accusations. As for Tommen, he was certainly shocked: she imagined his eyes moving between Joffrey and Sandor, trying to understand what was going on and how all this was going to end.

“So, Sandor, what do you have to say in your defense?” Joffrey taunted, pretending Sandor’s fate wasn’t already sealed.

With a lump in her throat, Sansa waited for his answer. He remained silent at first, then she heard him say with detachment: “I did turn off the camera. I had my reasons.”

Sansa shivered and tiptoed towards the office door.

“And what were these reasons that made you turn off the camera, for God’s sake?” Cersei hissed.

Sandor went on: “You should ask Trant why he keeps the footage of _this_ camera on his laptop and what he does with it.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Liar!”

“What the hell-”

On the other side of the door, Sansa’s eyes widened. Nothing made sense to her.

“Tommen darling, go find Trant’s laptop in his room and bring it back here.” Cersei’s words were laced with a wicked interest.

Sansa rushed to the nearest armchair and grasped her book before the door flung open; Tommen ran to Meryn Trant’s room without even noticing her presence in the family room. Through the open door, she heard Trant’s denial. _Whatever this is about, it’s useless and he should shut up,_ she mused. _Protesting only piques Cersei’s curiosity._

Soon enough, Tommen was back with Trant’s laptop. This time he spotted Sansa and planted himself in front of her.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were there. You should come with us. Methinks something interesting is about to happen…”

With an incline of his head, he motioned her inside the office. Sansa stepped in gingerly and stood in a corner, as far from the other ones as possible. Joffrey was sitting at his late father’s desk, Cersei leaning against the back of his seat. Sandor stood in front of a bookshelf filled with bound books no one cared to read, opposite Meryn Trant whose stiff back betrayed his unease.

Cersei frowned. “Is Sansa’s presence here necessary?”

“Of course not!” Joffrey barked.

“On the contrary! All the women living here should know how my co-worker uses the CCTV.” Sandor rewarded them with a twisted smile.

Trant pointed a finger at Sandor. “You’re going to regret that, Clegane!” Then, addressing his boss: “This is a waste of time. You should just fire this bastard, he admitted he turned off the camera!”

“Shut up, everyone!” Tommen commanded. “I need a password.” Indifferent to the others’ heated exchange, he had settled the laptop on the desk and turned it on.

Trant shook his head vehemently.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Cersei informed him, sashaying towards her employee. “Give us your password, Meryn.”

“Never!”

Tommen was already typing something. Over his shoulder Sansa saw the typical _‘Incorrect password’_ message. She moved closer.

“ _‘The ladies’ favorite treat’_?” Tommen read out loud. “How is this password hint going to help us?”

Tommen and Sansa glanced at Trant who, despite Cersei’s glare, kept silent. The boy scratched his head before shifting his gaze to Sandor. “What are we supposed to find on his laptop anyway?”

“A good reason for me to turn off the camera the other day. Read the password hint again, will you?”

“ _‘The ladies’ favorite treat’_ ... I mean, it’s 2017! Is it possible that someone’s password is as lame as _‘chocolate’_ or _‘peanut butter’_? Even with an at sign instead of an ‘a’ or that kind of stuff, it’s freaking ridiculous.”

“Try _‘mydick’,_ ” Sandor suggested, with the utmost seriousness. “Either that or... _‘mynuts’._ ”

Sansa gaped, while Tommen chuckled. After a couple of attempts - adding capital letters here and there - the boy heaved a sigh a relief. “We cracked his password!” he announced proudly. He grinned as Sansa patted his shoulder. “What are we looking for, now?”

It seemed obvious that Meryn Trant wouldn’t say a word to help Tommen find whatever file he kept on his laptop. Tight-lipped and cornered by Cersei - in the literal sense - he observed the little group gravitating around his laptop with a mix of rage and apprehension.

“Look for videos,” Sandor suggested. “And please stay away from the porn stuff he probably downloaded: we’re just looking for CCTV footage.”

A few clicks later, Sansa, Sandor and Joffrey were all standing behind Tommen as the boy opened a file containing several low quality videos. He picked a video at random and played it. The moment they saw several female members of the Tyrell family, giggling and dancing by the swimming pool at night, their gaudy beach dresses and bikinis lit by spotlights, they all recognized one of Joffrey’s pool parties, months ago.

“Is this the night Elinor Tyrell performed a strip tease?” Tommen asked. Leaning against the back of his chair, Sansa saw his round cheeks reddening.

“I thought it was Megga!” Joffrey answered. “Oh, here you go, that’s Megga going topless... Yes, that’s her! Naughty girl... What did I tell you, Tommen? I was drunk, but I have very _vivid_ memories of that night.”

Sansa mentally facepalmed. _So this is why Meryn Trant didn’t want us to check his laptop?_ Sweating profusely, the Lannisters’ employee looked them up and down. Suddenly she remembered Sandor’s words and her gaze shifted back to the screen of Trant’s laptop. _So am I on one of these videos?_ _Sandor implied that Cersei and I could be on them…_ She soon felt Sandor’s eyes on her, but Joffrey’s presence deterred her from glancing at him.

Focused on his task, Tommen was already turning his attention to another video kept by Meryn Trant. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat; she feared to see herself this time.

Like the previous one, the video had been shot by night, the spotlights casting long shadows on the granite decking as Cersei padded across it. When she stopped by the swimming pool, she drained what looked very much like a Martini glass then unceremoniously bent forward to put it down. Sansa noticed she was barefoot.

 _Cersei drinking by the swimming pool… What’s the matter with this video?_ she wondered. Next to her, Joffrey looked just as puzzled as she was.

“Holy shit!”

The second her eyes moved back to the video because of Tommen’s muffled cry, she saw Cersei reaching back to unzip her sheath dress and wriggling out of it. Ill-at-ease, Sansa briefly glanced at the blond woman who kept a close eye on Trant, unaware of what her sons were watching at the same moment.

“Do we need to see more?” Sansa asked, her voice shaking, but nobody seemed to listen. The woman on the video was now taking off her underwear - some precious, lacy bra with matching panties which came either from La Perla or from Carine Gilson. Discarded by her careless owner, the bra gracefully fell in the water. _Leavers lace and chlorine or how to ruin a 300 $ bra: great job, Cersei._

Instead of pausing the video, the two Lannister brothers stared helplessly at it as Cersei dipped her toes in the water. “Will you pause it, now?” Sansa tried again, finally leaning over Tommen’s shoulder to press the spacebar.

“I can’t believe it,” Joffrey mouthed, running his hand down his face.

“What, darling? What is it you can’t believe?” Cersei’s question made both her sons flinch. “Is it Margaery Tyrell performing the Dance of the Seven Veils, this time?”

The silence that followed made the blond woman frown. “Speak! What is it you can’t believe? What is it Sansa didn’t want you to watch?”

Joffrey shifted from foot to foot. “Mother, I thought- I thought skinny dipping was more a... teenager thing.”

“I guess it is. Why are you talking about skinny dipping, Joffrey?” As her son remained silent, Cersei’s green eyes widened. _She realized what this is about,_ Sansa mused. “Oh,” Cersei said. Then, spinning on her heels to face the man who had kept a copy of the CCTV footage: “You, my dear, are in serious trouble!”

“How did you know?” Joffrey asked Sandor, while Tommen tried to decide what video to watch next.

“Walked in on him once, a couple of months ago. Trant was with his laptop, and… I recognized the footage of the camera overlooking the patio. There was… your mother… sunbathing and Trant was, well...”

The embarrassed silence that followed was interrupted by Cersei’s gasp of horror. Quickly turning around, she gave them a puzzled look. “Was this scumbag doing what I think he was doing?” she inquired.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Jerking off to a video of my mother?” Joffrey sounded hysterical. “Is this what my father asked when we hired you, Trant?” An embarrassed silence was Trant’s only reply. He stared alternatively at Cersei and at the little group around Tommen with contempt. Joffrey needed answers though and if he wasn’t going to get them from Trant, he expected Sandor to satisfy his curiosity. “There’s one thing I don’t quite understand, Sandor. Why didn’t you tell me earlier, hmm?”

“I’m telling you now.”

Joffrey snorted at his remark.

“I had no proof.” Sandor’s defense was weak and if the stiffness in his bearing was any indication, he knew it. Over Joffrey’s shoulder, Sansa saw the man she loved clench his jaw.

Cersei heaved a sigh before slowly crossing the room, the sound of her heels on the floor almost threatening. “Anyway, Sandor, it doesn’t explain why you turned off the camera, the other day.”

“Yes it does. I didn’t want this fucker to keep doing this-” He gestured at the laptop. “I didn’t want him to copy more videos.”

“Joffrey said you turned off the camera in the morning, at 8 something. I wasn’t sunbathing on the patio, let alone ‘skinny dipping’…” Exasperated, Cersei made quotation marks in the air.

Sandor swept the room, taking in Trant’s pale face, then those of the Lannisters, and finally meeting Sansa’s eyes. “Sansa was there. She swam a bit, then took a shower. There’s a pretty clear view on the shower from the camera, so you know… I told myself Joffrey wouldn’t like it if another guy got an eyeful of his girlfriend showering.”

“Of course not.” Cersei’s voice turned ice cold as she gazed at Sansa. “We don’t want our innocent little dove being eyed up by some perv…” Again, she turned to Trant, pointing at him. “Because that’s what you are, a perv!”

Tommen cleared his throat. “Shall I delete all the videos, Mom?”

Bringing her hands to her hips, Cersei sighed deeply. “Let’s keep the videos and the laptop as well, for now. As evidence. Trant, go pack your things and leave. You have thirty minutes.”

As expected, Trant immediately protested about his dismissal and went on a tirade about the employees’ rights; Tommen and Joffrey were discussing the safest place to keep Trant’s laptop and they seemed to have forgotten Sansa and Sandor’s existence. While the others were more or less arguing, she met the head of security’s gray eyes. _Tonight he saved his skin,_ she thought. _His skin and mine._ _I doubted him earlier, I convinced myself he had no idea what he was doing when he said he had a plan._

If he resented her for not trusting him about the camera, Sandor didn’t let it show.

“Someone’s got to check the CCTV,” he announced, addressing Joffrey.

“Of course, please do.” Joffrey vaguely gestured at the door then turned to his younger brother again.

 _Not even an apology after accusing him…_ Tommen and Sansa exchanged an appalled glance. Sansa decided the youngest of the Lannisters was just as sorry as she was for Sandor, who walked out of the office in two strides.

* * *

 “Take a deep breath in through the nose, then a long breath out through the mouth. Good, let’s come out of child’s pose now… Let’s try- let’s try something special today, something great to release tension.” The brunette on the video smiled as she looked at the camera. The decor - white walls and a wooden floor, indoor plants on the sides and a big window behind the yoga teacher - was familiar to Sansa, just like the woman’s voice, friendly and reassuring.

After Trant got fired, Sansa thought it safer to forget about the yoga lessons she gave Sandor, so she was back to her favorite videos - and to her solitary practice. As a matter of fact, she had not seen Sandor since he had left the office the night before.

“So, you’re sitting on your heels. Big toes to touch, knees opened as wide as your yoga mat. Now lean forward slightly and place your hands on your mat, in front of you. Part of your weight is resting on your wrists, but most of it is still on your base. If you’re familiar with these videos, you know where we’re heading to…” The yoga teacher gave the camera a knowing smile. “If you’re new to this practice, if this is your first time joining us then… be prepared for something that seems a bit awkward. We call this ‘Lion’s breath’!”

 _The more ridiculous we look on our mats, the more cheerful she gets,_ Sansa thought, slowly shaking her head and suppressing an indulgent smile. She was already following the woman’s instructions. God knew she needed to release tension after the hell of a time she had had lately.

“So here we go: you take a deep breath in then you stick your tongue out on the exhale and _at the same time_ you gaze at your third eye. Like this…”

After a deep breath, the woman opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue while squinting. The gurgling sound of her breath was just as bizarre as the pose and she ended up chuckling before turning to the camera again. “OK, _this,_ my friends, was the lion’s breath. If I can do this on Youtube so can you. Let’s do this three times.” Then, with a mischievous look, she added: “Let the lion inside you roar.”

It was one of the things Sansa loved about these videos: the instructor never took herself too seriously and therefore liberated her viewers of their complexes. Sansa chose not to ask herself if she looked silly or not - the perks of doing yoga alone - and she therefore did as she was told, exhaling noisily and squinting to look at her third eye. In a way, the name of the pose brought her back to the events of the night before, as she associated the lion with the Lannisters. They roared, like Joffrey accusing Sandor of compromising the family’s safety. Their behavior frightened other people - Sansa had learned to fear them. That being said, they often made fools of themselves, trusting the wrong person, like Joffrey who probably kicked himself for relying on Trant. Cersei’s skinny dipping was another proof of the Lannisters’ ability to make terrible choices. Remembering Cersei’s green eyes widening when she had realized what her son had seen her doing on the video, she laughed quietly. Sometimes the Lannisters didn’t need anyone’s help to find themselves in a difficult situation.

* * *

After what she considered a close call, Sansa had decided to keep herself on her toes; now that Meryn Trant was gone and that Sandor was in Joffrey’s good graces again, getting caught would be be too stupid. She therefore didn’t try to see Sandor at the Lannisters’ and they kept their exchanges to a minimum. A couple of texts here and there were not enough for her: Sansa wanted some alone time to discuss the recent events and to see how Sandor envisioned the future. There she was two days after Trant’s dismissal, stuck between her desire to keep a low profile and her need for a real, lengthy conversation with Sandor.

In order to pull the wool over Joffrey’s eyes, she kept going to the campus as if everything was normal, attending lectures and preparing her assignments in the library. A large and non-descript building, the library used to be Sansa’s safe haven in the campus. The students who haunted the library were quiet people who didn’t judge her nor expect anything from her, except an occasional tip on how to coax the cantankerous employee who kept the rare books and documents. Inside the library people minded their own business and it was why Sansa felt good there.

She had been seated at a table for almost two hours, working on an essay about euergetism in the late Hellenistic period and she had serious doubts about what she had written so far. Did these donations she was writing about match Paul Veyne’s definition of euergetism? Shouldn’t they be considered as mere philanthropy? It was confusing. She snapped her book shut, stretched her arms over her head and finally put them behind her head, hands clasped and elbows out.

A girl shuffled past her, carrying her laptop and most likely going home. On her left, two students sat hunched over their books. Sansa sighed, hesitating. Going back to the Lannisters’ house or staying there for another couple of hours? It was almost 6 PM and she suspected Joffrey was somewhere with his friends, maybe trying to flirt with Margaery. As far she knew, Joffrey’s attempts to seduce Margaery weren’t very successful. The night before, as she gazed through the family room French window, she had caught a glimpse of him sitting in his car as he waited for the automatic garage door to open. He had stayed there long after the garage door was open, head hanging, then at some point he had hit the steering wheel with such violence Sansa had cringed. Later, that night, Joff had announced her they were going to attend Megga’s birthday party the next week and that he expected her to look her best. It was pretty easy to read between the lines. _Marge drives him mad and he didn’t make any progress with her._

Thinking about Joffrey gave her a good reason not to go back to the Lannisters’ yet and Sansa decided to keep working on her assignment until she was halfway through it. Sansa pushed back her chair and stood up, then smoothed her denim miniskirt as she walked to the nearest bookshelf above which a sign read ‘Hellenistic period’. Maybe she’d find something useful, maybe she’d just get an occasion to stretch her legs: it didn’t matter at this point. She scanned the spines of the books on the shelf, trying to remember the name of an historian her teacher had mentioned once, when talking about donations. _Can’t be far. It’s on the tip of my tongue..._ _Coleman… No. Is it something like Colden?_ A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, then she crouched to check the lowest shelves. Nothing. Raising to her full height and craning her neck, she swept the top shelf unsuccessfully and it was when she turned around to go back to her seat, a look of defeat on her face, that she saw him across the large room. Her mind went blank because the campus library meant her teachers and her fellow students, _not_ Sandor Clegane.

And yet there he was. He had spotted her and was striding toward the corner of the room where she stood, ignoring the perplexed students who visibly wondered what a man with his looks was doing in the library.

“Hey, little bird,” he rasped, stopping in front of her. As she didn’t answer immediately and even took a step back to lean against the bookshelf, a smile tugged the corner of his mouth and Sansa understood he took pleasure in her puzzled look.

“What- What are you doing here?” she managed to ask.

He shrugged. “Saw your car and told myself I’d stop and say hi. We didn’t get many occasions to talk lately.” Was it the shock of seeing him in a place where she never thought they would meet or was it his gaze on her? Her knees wobbled and she chided herself for what she considered a proof of weakness.

“What if Joffrey or one of his friends sees us?” Her tone was a bit stiff as she uttered her concerns.

A chuckle welcomed her question. “Tell me something, little bird: when was the last time you saw the little shit and his minions here?”

 _He scores a point_. “Right. They’re not exactly the bookworm types but-” She thought of the security gate and the not-so-welcoming woman who checked the comings and goings of the students. “How did you manage to get in here?”

Sandor inched forward and gave her a wry smile, before gazing down at her curves. Head hanging, the curtain of his dark face concealing part of his face, Sandor turned his attention on the mother-of-pearl buttons of her sleeveless shirt; his fingers hovered over the shiny little disks, touching them from time to time. “I can’t really pose as a student anymore, can I? That’s why I had to charm the lady downstairs.”

Trying to forget the little game he was playing with the buttons of her shirt, she tried to imagine what he could have told the woman at the security gate: did he frighten her? Did he bribe her? Before she could decide, the lanky frame of one of the librarians came into her range of vision.

“Quiet, please!” he hissed, crossing his bony arms about his chest.

Surprised, Sandor swiveled his head and quickly answered: “Sorry, man. We’ll be quiet.” At this moment, as he faced him, the librarian took in the deep burns on Sandor’s face and he flinched. Maybe Sandor didn’t see it, or maybe he didn’t give a damn because he soon turned to Sansa again and went on: “This young lady can be very quiet. She proved it _once_.”

And suddenly, Sansa’s mind went back to that morning at the Lannisters’ less than a week ago. Under Sandor’s scrutiny, she remembered the mutual yearning and his hands on her. She now had her back against the bookshelf and Sandor’s frame made any retreat impossible. Her cheeks grew hot as the librarian frowned at them, visibly exasperated.

 _Come on, Sansa, do something…_ On an impulse, she took Sandor’s hand and led him to the table where she had left her laptop and books. She started to gather her things and stuffed them in her leather tote bag, before addressing the librarian: “We’re leaving. See? I’ll take my things. We won’t bother you any longer.”

One last suspicious glance at them and the man walked away. Sansa shouldered her bag, then her eyes met Sandor’s again. He looked just as confused as she did moments ago, when she had noticed his presence. “Come,” she whispered, taking his hand again.

As they crossed the large room, Sansa felt the gaze of the other students on them; they moved past the librarian’s desk, arrived in the hallway and kept walking towards the staircase, but just before reaching it, Sansa opened one door on the right side of the hallway and led Sandor inside. A clang made him swear under his breath; she guessed he had stumbled over something and the second she switched the light on, she saw the metallic ladder the staff used to replace bulbs.

“The broom cupboard?” he commented, taking in the shelves filled with bottles of detergent, cardboard boxes and tools in one sweeping gaze. The smell of bleach filled the air. “What a resourceful little bird. What are we doing here, hmm?”

She shrugged, before putting her tote bag down. “You said you came here so you could talk to me,” she began.

A nod, then the sly little smile came back. “I sure wanted to talk to you when we were out there, with other people around…” He paused, closing the distance between them. In the confined space of the broom cupboard, escaping him was nearly impossible, assuming she had any desire to do so. “Now that we’re alone, on the other hand…”

Her cheeks burned again.

“You look embarrassed,” he observed, his tone more tender than she expected.

‘Embarrassed’ didn’t quite convey what she felt at the moment. Fluster, nervousness or trouble: those were all the things she experienced as Sandor’s eyes wandered on her curves, making her heart beat faster. He cupped her face and stared at her intently, the pad of his thumb lightly brushing her lips. As a reflex, she took a deep breath, expecting a kiss that didn't come. Instead, his fingers left the oval of her face to hover over the shiny buttons of her shirt - again. The mocking smile playing about his lips drove her mad.

 _Quit playing with my nerves,_ she thought, her voice so loud in her head she wondered if he could hear her words. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Sandor froze reluctantly. “Maybe. But first, this door needs to remain closed.” He glanced around the small room, spotted a chair with a broken back and blocked the door with it. When their eyes met again, she read doubt in Sandor’s.

“What is it?”

“I expected more than kisses, Sansa, but maybe- Maybe kisses were all you wanted.”

 _Always that nagging impression we don’t understand each other._ Leaning back against the wall, she shook her head and drew him closer. “I expect more than kisses.”

The gray eyes bored into hers before he lifted her so that their faces touched. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she gently kissed his chapped lips. This first kiss prompted another one, deeper, more feverish, that put a throb between her legs. _It’s a choice,_ she mused, whimpering into his mouth. _I choose him and the rest doesn’t matter._ When she would replay this scene in her mind, Sansa would acknowledge that she didn’t hitch her leg up over his hipbone on impulse, but because it was exactly what she wanted. She soon felt his hands leaving her waist to move down, until he lifted her up again and her legs wrapped his middle. He had his hands beneath her ass and a low groan escaped his lips when they were not pressed to Sansa’s.

Her sleeveless shirt first hit the floor, soon followed by his own button-down. Sandor merely pushed down the straps of her bra to cup her breasts. By this time, she was rocking her hips against his and she couldn’t ignore his cock was hard. The moment he gently set her back on her feet, giving her a long look, there was no need for words.

“Yes,” she whispered against his neck. Her precarious position in Sandor’s arms had hitched up her miniskirt. She only broke their embrace to reach beneath her skirt and to take off her panties; when she was done, she gazed at him intently, undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and freed his cock from his underpants, her hands barely trembling. Excitement had replaced awkwardness and the fact Sandor stood still, letting her do as she pleased, felt strangely pleasant. _Empowering._

Her back pressed against the wall, she sighed deeply as he hoisted her up in his arms, then she clung  to him when he slid a finger inside her, mumbling something about her being wet. He shifted, placed his hands under her butt cheeks and before long he was inside her, moving slowly, visibly restraining himself. At first her face was buried against his bare chest and she breathed in his scent. When her muscles relaxed a bit, she rested her chin on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes open and taking in the incongruous decor of their secret meeting, with its old metallic shelves and the somewhat dusty light bulb hanging from the ceiling. _This is really happening. We’re in the broom cupboard of the campus library and I’m with the man I love and I trust._ Eyes fixed on the ugly light bulb until its bright light dazzled her, she let herself go and rocked her hips against Sandor’s. His pace changed too as he now pounded inside her, letting out a grunt here and there.

She came first, her moaning muffled by Sandor’s kisses and her body still tingled when he found his own release, resting his head in the crook of Sansa’s neck.

Later that night, as she replayed the events of the late afternoon in her head, Sansa wouldn’t be able to say who had broken their embrace or who had started putting their clothes back on. She’d remember he had been the first one to speak though. “We really need to find a quiet place… A place of our own.”

Sansa, who had kept her back to him while getting dressed out of modesty, turned to him at once. He sounded detached and he avoided her eyes as if what he had just said wasn’t important, but she was no sucker.

It took her some time to find the right words, then she said, “I don’t know what makes me happier, the fact you want to find a place for us, or this…” She gestured at him, a lump in her throat.

“What?”

“This,” she repeated, her voice a little shaky. “You stating that you want to find a place for us. Finally accepting this is more than a fling.”

Taking up his old habits again, he shrugged. “Fuck. It took me a while to, you know, accept it.”

A long silence ensued. They were both fully clothed and it was obvious that they couldn’t stay there forever.

“The strangest thing happened,” Sansa confessed. “Tyrion Lannister came to me and offered his help.” Mindlessly, she combed her long hair with her fingers.

“The fuck?”

“He knows about us, Sandor, and he said he’d help us run away.” She then told him her exchange with the Imp in minute detail.

“Do you trust him?” Sandor finally asked her. “What does your gut feeling tell you?”

Although she had been wondering what to do about the Imp for the last couple of days, the answer came to her easily. “I think- I think we can trust him.”

Sandor remained silent for a while, arms folded. “If you think he can be trusted then…” he rasped. “I’ll talk to the bloody Imp. See what the little man has to say about his little plan, assuming he already has one. But first…” His hand on the doorknob, he leaned forward to kiss her. “First I’ll look for a place. For us.”


	11. The Hero Pose (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an eyeroll Joffrey crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back on the couch. Surrounded by a bunch of girls, Margaery was watching them from afar. _Have you read ‘How to Decipher Body Language’, Marge? Because Joffrey is giving you his best rendition of ‘My girlfriend is a pain in the ass and I’m open to any propositions’._  
>  Whether she understood what was going on in Joffrey’s head or not, Margaery chose not to make any move and stayed talking with her girlfriends. The music kept blaring from the speakers and Sansa told herself she’d be lucky if she didn’t wake up the next day with a headache. She was seriously considering feigning sickness to get a lift back to the Lannisters’ when she saw Sandor’s tall frame in the doorway.  
> The clutch she kept against her hip vibrated and she opened it to retrieve her phone. The message was from Sandor and it read: _“You look sad”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by a lady like no other: LadyCyprus! Thanks a million to her for beta-reading this fic despite a very busy schedule.  
> A huge 'thank you' to all the lovely persons who left kudos or comments here. This chapter is the second to last and I hope you'll enjoy it too.
> 
> Writing confession: I find inspiration everywhere, even in fashion blogs - because yes, I sometimes scroll down fashion blogs... As a matter of fact, a trend I spotted repeatedly on fashion blogs inspired one of the scenes of this update.
> 
> The very first yoga instructor I had inspired the character of the chatty yoga teacher in the inaugural scene. She’s one of my headcanons for Septa Mordane.

“... and as your slowly unravel the posture, observe your breath.”

As one man, twenty men and women brought their hands in prayer and listened to their breath, eyes closed. From under her lashes, Sansa peeked at the people next to her and she couldn’t help smiling. Despite a sensation of discomfort in her neck - _thank you, plough pose_ \- she was grateful for this moment away from the Lannisters’, in the coziness of the yoga studio.

Sitting cross-legged on her favorite fuschia yoga mat, the teacher, a lady in her fifties named Mordane, cleared her throat before going on: “Good. You can sit on your heels, now.”

At her command, twenty men and women lowered themselves to their mats, and came to their knees.

“Let’s challenge ourselves with a little _virasana_ variation. Who can tell me what _virasana_ means?”

Mordane often used the sanskrit names of the poses. She sometimes digressed and talked about the Indian culture or mentioned one of her stays in Varanasi to perfect her yoga practice. Her erudition was one of the things Sansa enjoyed most about her. Many people Sansa knew saw yoga as a kind of physical training just like running or swimming, others said that yoga was good to cope with a stressful life; some even confessed they had joined the yoga studio because it was trendy and all their friends did yoga. Mordane didn’t deny the physical benefits of yoga and she even insisted on them, but to her yoga was much more than a nice way to stay fit or to fight off stress: it was a way of thinking and beyond that, a rich culture ready to be discovered if one was curious enough.

“ _Virasana_ , anyone?” Mordane repeated, tilting her turbaned head to the side, scanning the audience.

Sansa raised her hand.

“Yes, dear?”

“Isn’t virasana what we call the hero pose?”

“Very good!” Mordane then turned to a man on the first rank and told him: “ _Virasana_ isn’t a good idea for people with knee injuries so you know you can’t do it with us, I’m afraid.”

The man lifted his hands in acquiescence and sat with his legs extended in front of him. Whether it was the man’s expression or the anticipation of the hero pose that triggered this reaction, Mordane cracked a smile. It made her face look even bonier.

“So where were we? Actually I’m going to do it with you because this pose is such a relief for tired legs like mine…” She shifted, sent her legs to one side, sat on her heels to mirror her students’ pose and clapped her hands just once. “So… First you lift your buttocks from your heels and you touch your inner knees together. Then you slide your feet apart. The distance between your feet should be slightly wider than your hips. Like so... Now that you’re all set, you can move aside the fleshy part of your calves and sit down carefully. Carefully, people. If your buttocks don’t come to the floor, who cares? Fold your blanket and use it as a prop.”

_Ouch._ For some reason, Sansa always felt a minor discomfort in her left knee when doing this kind of pose. She glanced around. Some looked comfortable enough, others gritted their teeth, wondering when their ordeal would be over.

“We are going to stay there for several long breaths,” Mordane announced, nodding almost apologetically. “This pose doesn’t serve you unless you stay still for a moment. So try to relax, breathe deep and listen to old Mordane’s ramblings.”

Some laughed and a lady on the third row tsk-tsked with amusement.

“The hero pose,” Mordane went on. “When I discovered yoga, I heard a yogi talking at length about the benefits of the hero pose and I told myself _‘Why is it called the hero pose? What’s so heroic about it?’_ Then I tried it and I had the same reaction as you, Lollys,” she said, looking at a plump young woman who made a point of honor at doing every posture, no matter the difficulty. “I suffered. I suffered because we Westerners aren’t very flexible. And the yogi kept talking to me about the boldness of the hero who keeps his spine very straight and who seems to wait for the king to reward his feat of arms... _‘Nonsense,’_ I thought. By the way, those of you who are not comfortable can come back in cross-legged position… And those who want to go further can slowly lean back on their elbows and finally lie down flat on their backs. This is _supta virasana_ or the reclined hero pose”

Like half a dozen women, Sansa carefully leaned back until her spine was flush with the mat. _I didn’t know I could do it,_ she mused, rather proud of herself.

After a look at her audience, Morgane added: “To this date, I am not sure about the origins of _virasana_ . But have you ever observed a child sitting on the floor? Some of them do sit in _virasana_ while they’re drawing or playing and it looks so easy for them. So unfair for us, adults. It took me years - I’m not kidding you - to regain the flexibility I had lost when growing up and to master this pose.” She let out a sigh. “The hero pose is child’s play and is difficult at the same time. It requires persistence.”

Mordane’s words struck a chord with Sansa, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she found so accurate about her statement.

“This persistence… Maybe that’s why they called it the hero pose, after all. This asana is not about some mythical hero who could inspire us. Who believes in heroes, nowadays? It is, however, about _us_ taking responsibility for our own happiness in the practice and about _us_ becoming our own hero. Sitting up straight when in _virasana_ or letting yourself go in _supta virasana_ , returning to this asana until it becomes comfortable.”

Her sharp eyes wandered on the group and a smile graced her lips. “Enough for today. Come out of the pose, slowly, mindfully... and prepare yourselves for relaxation.”

During the relaxation, as she lied on her mat with her palms facing the ceiling, Sansa’s mind kept returning to Mordane’s words. _‘Becoming our own hero’_ she had said. _Can I become my own hero?_ This notion seemed ludicrous at first… At first only.

Soon enough, Mordane turned on the lights and it was time to sit up and to say _namaste_ to the teacher and to the others.

Sansa was rolling her mat when Mordane planted herself in front of her, handing her a leaflet.

“Are you interested in a retreat, darling? Falyse and Lollys just told me they were in. Yoga in the mountains, local food, meditation… So, what do you say?”

The proposition caught her unawares and Sansa gaped before stammering: “It- it sounds great, really, but I can’t. Maybe next time.”

_There will be no ‘next time’,_ she thought. _‘Next time’ I will be far from the Lannisters and therefore far from the yoga studio._ The prospect of losing a yoga teacher like Mordane didn’t please Sansa and she had trouble holding the woman’s gaze. Her chest constricted.

“That’s too bad,” Mordane sighed, still holding her leaflets in her hand. “This retreat would have been better with you.”

Sansa’s phone buzzed in her duffle bag. _Crap._

“I’ll see you soon,” Mordane said with a smile.

“Thank you so much,” Sansa answered. “Thank you for everything.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as if she feared not to be strong enough to finish her sentence.

Mordane’s eyes widened with concern. “Well… you’re most welcome, dear.”

Once the woman walked away, Sansa retrieved her phone from her bag and touched the screen. Joffrey had sent her a text.

_Have you forgotten about Megga’s birthday party? You’d better come back and be ready in 45 minutes._

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose. _This is gonna be a long night._

* * *

As the blare-riff went on, Margaery struck a pose for the hundredth time, bringing one hand on her hip and shrugging her denim jacket so that the sleeves wrinkled down her forearms, in the most impractical way possible. Mesmerized, Joffrey took a pic with Margaery’s phone and burst out laughing for no particular reason. Then the pretty brown-haired girl swiveled on her heels to glance back at her ad-libbed photographer over her shoulder, her denim jacket still shrugged. She looked like she was struggling to look cool with the sleeves hindering her movements. _You’ve done it already, Marge,_ Sansa mused, sipping her margarita. _Can’t you be a little more creative?_ Stifling a yawn, she observed Margaery and Joff in their courtship ritual: she, puckering and undulating; him, rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning stupidly. Something in Margaery’s eyes indicated the courtship ritual would go on for a while because in the end, she had at least one thing in common with Joff: she didn’t want to let go of her plaything.

Maybe Joff knew that he wouldn’t make any more progress that night because he came back to Sansa before the next song began and he slumped down on the couch next to her. An external observer could have missed the way she briefly closed her eyelids the second Joffrey’s ass hit the couch - as if she composed herself - but she was screaming internally.

“Honestly, these pics are so good…” Joffrey started, speaking louder to be heard over the fancy electro music. He was still holding Margaery’s phone, watching with unconcealed pleasure her photo gallery, unaware of the fact Sansa took no interest in it. “Look, did you see this one?” He brandished the phone so that Sansa couldn’t miss an umptenth portrait of Marge, pouting and carrying a designer’s bag which was worth the budget of a developing country health clinic. _And always that same habit of shrugging her velvet blazer._

Joffrey kept cooing about Margaery’s outfits and after several non-committal ‘Hmh’, Sansa felt compelled to say it was amazing. She paid languid attention to the pictures until Joffrey nudged at her.

“There’s just one thing I don’t get. Why is she always doing that thing, you know, shrugging her coat or her jacket as if she was too hot?”

Brow knitted, he gazed at her and for the first time in weeks or maybe months, he sincerely looked like he valued her opinion and expected her to enlighten him. _But about this?_ It made her sick to imagine that the only thing he wanting to talk about with her, after months and months of relationship, concerned Margaery’s views on fashion.

“She shrugs her coat on every other picture. Why?” he insisted.

“Because…” Sansa began with the forbearing tone she took to answer Rickon’s questions in a past life, “she probably saw this on a fashion blog. This is, supposedly, the modern way to wear a jacket these days. They call it ‘fall-off jacket’.”

Marge had recently created her own blog. If Elinor didn’t lie, she had invested in two different cameras and a ton of pricey clothes to outwit the successful fashionistas of Bloglovin’. Sansa wondered if the mixed reception Margaery’s blog had received so far might have something to do with her tendency to blow hot and cold when it came to her relationship with Joffrey.

As the boy’s mouth dangled open, Sansa added, barely above a whisper: “It’s just a gimmick, really.”

Joffrey’s gaze drifted back to Margaery’s cell phone and he puckered up, looking puzzled. “When you think about it… It’s different from wearing your jacket or your coat the ordinary way, you know, covering your shoulders and all.”

“Yeah, she shrugged her coat,” Sansa commented. “Groundbreaking.”

He glared at her. “Come on, Sansa. Are you jealous?”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “Honestly? No. I just wish she’d stop playing with your nerves. I wish she’d make up her mind about it and date you. At long last.”

All of a sudden his expression changed and he leaned toward her, threatening. “Shut up, will you? If someone hears you, I-”

Sansa didn’t bat an eyelid and she instantly read in Joffrey’s gaze a mix of surprise and disappointment, because she didn’t look afraid of him anymore. If she was honest, she still feared his reactions sometimes but at that very moment, surrounded by a bunch of Tyrells who attended Megga’s birthday, she doubted he would harm her.

She exhaled unhurriedly, never breaking eye contact with him to let him know she was bored, more than anything.

“Sansa, don’t-” he spat.

“Don’t what? Can’t I wish you to be happy? You’d make a lovely couple.”

His eyes rolled skyward. “I’m with you, now,” he said, lower.

“You’re not with me, you’re using me. It makes a hell of a difference.” With that, she stood up at once, smoothing the skirt of her tan suede minidress. Searching for an explanation on her face, Joffrey craned his neck; she reluctantly looked down at him when he took hold of her wrist then she snatched her hand away.

“Putting on a show, huh?”

“Says the guy who manipulated his girlfriend to stay with him so that he could make another girl jealous. You’re the one who’s pretending here.” Her knees wobbled. Beyond the  extreme satisfaction of giving Joffrey a piece of her mind, Sansa was walking a tightrope and she knew it. In the periphery of her vision, Megga’s guests were already looking at them, wondering what was going on, maybe gossiping. Margaery herself peered at them over her glass, then she giggled and whispered something in her cousin Elinor’s ear.

All of a sudden, memories came rushing back to Sansa and she saw herself a few days ago at the Lannisters’, as Sandor faced Joffrey’s accusations about the CCTV camera. Her sassy attitude bordered on recklessness, endangering both her and the man she loved.

“Sit. Down,” Joffrey muttered.

And she sat down, her cheeks aflame.

“Good girl. You know better than to anger me, don’t you?”

Staring into space, she didn’t answer. Megga’s birthday party would go on, Sansa would play the part Joffrey had ascribed her and in a couple of hours when she’d crawled in between the sheets she’d cling to the idea it would be over soon. It had to. Earlier, Sandor had told her in passing he might have found a place to rent that he was going to visit it tomorrow. _If only… If only I could just leave Joffrey now._

Right in the center of the large room, Marge danced a mock version of tango with the birthday-girl, pretending to showcase Megga’s dancing skills but making sure all eyes were on her, as she bent back at the end of their impromptu duo. Sansa slowly exhaled her frustration. These last weeks had been all about biding her time and making sure she would come out of this unscathed, yet her patience was wearing thin. Next to her, Joffrey cheered the girls. Margaery sashayed toward them to take back her phone then walked back to the little group surrounding Megga. After making eye contact with the brown-haired girl, Joffrey deliberately draped his arm over Sansa’s shoulders, drawing her close. _This is so pathetic. Does it sometimes cross his mind that he’s doing it all wrong? That making Margaery jealous is as stupid as it is counterproductive?_ Her cheek pressed against his own, damp with sweat, she gritted her teeth.

She had a pretty clear idea of what awaited her.

Joffrey being as predictable as he was stubborn when it came to Margaery, the snuggle would soon turn to a so-called passionate kiss. Her stomach churned - in such a case, you’d think alcohol helped... it didn’t, and Sansa rued the margarita  she had had earlier. As expected, after crushing her ribcage against his, Joffrey broke their embrace to give her a smug smile then he started cupping her face. There wasn’t much to do to escape his wormy lips, unless she decided to punch him in the face and take her chances. The only sensible option was to pretend it wasn’t her in Joffrey’s arms and that she wasn’t there at all.

Sickened, she held onto the idea it would soon be over and he’d get tired of kissing someone who wasn’t kissing him back. The second he stopped and rested his head against her shoulder, out of breath, she suppressed a sigh of relief.

He whispered in her ear: “We could, you know, find some quiet place and-”

Sansa recoiled at once. “No.” Joffrey could crush her hopes but she was done letting him humiliate her.

“No?” He sounded sincerely surprised, as if he couldn’t fathom a negative answer to his advances. “Sansa, come on. It’s been a while. I’m sure you’d-”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said no.”

“I can make you do it,” he went on, brushing her bare thigh in a way that made her skin crawl. As he sat up to look at her in the eye, he sported his signature smile, the one filled with confidence and threat he had inherited his mother.

She held his gaze. “You need me in the pictures and on your arm so that Marge becomes jealous,” she said under her breath. “Do you really think having sex with me will have a bigger impact on her than kisses and such?”

Joffrey puckered his lips, pondering what she said.

“You know Joff, you can have any girl you want. I don’t care. But don’t push your luck with me.”

With an eyeroll he crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back on the couch. Surrounded by a bunch of girls, Margaery was watching them from afar. _Have you read ‘How to Decipher Body Language’, Marge? Because Joffrey is giving you his best rendition of ‘My girlfriend is a pain in the ass and I’m open to any propositions’._

Whether she understood what was going on in Joffrey’s head or not, Margaery chose not to make any move and stayed talking with her girlfriends. The music kept blaring from the speakers and Sansa told herself she’d be lucky if she didn’t wake up the next day with a headache. She was seriously considering feigning sickness to get a lift back to the Lannisters’ when she saw Sandor’s tall frame in the doorway.

After Meryn Trant got fired, Sandor had had to train the man Cersei had hired as a replacement. The new guy, named Boros Blount, wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, or so it seemed; there were things Joffrey didn’t trust him with yet. As a result, Sandor had been extremely busy and Sansa had barely seen him. She cast a glance at Joffrey who was biting his nails while observing Margaery from a distance. Sitting next to Joff made her ill-at-ease when Sandor was around.

The clutch she kept against her hip vibrated and she opened it to retrieve her phone. The message was from Sandor and it read: _“You look sad”_

_It’s because I wish I was with you_

_I’m not that far_

_I miss your arms and your kisses_

_Soon, little bird. Very soon. I’m visiting the apartment tomorrow_

At that very moment, Joffrey’s hand landed on her lap again and she almost jumped.

“Hey,” he said. “Who are you texting to?”

“A friend from the yoga studio.” _After all, it’s not a complete lie. Sandor and I have been doing yoga together._

Joffrey frowned. “You never mentioned this friend.”

His remark was met with a shrug. “You never asked.” And once more, she didn’t feel like she was lying.

He slowly shook his head, smiled at her with something akin to indulgence and took the phone from her hands to put it away. Holding her hands in his, he seemed ready for another public display of affection. Sansa braced herself.

“Come here, Sansa.”

And although complying was the last thing she wanted, she did come and she let him wrap his arms around her as if she was his. There was a kiss, then another she didn’t dare refuse; and while she endured it like one endures physical pain, she knew Sandor observed them and she even imagined how he felt, his smoldering gray eyes fixed on her, his fingers curling into fists. _How do I stop this?_

Even though he could be tenacious when he wanted to draw Margaery’s attention on him, Joffrey soon grew tired of Sansa’s lack of response and he let go of her after a short while, giving her a smile that looked like a wince. They sat back against the cushions of the couch in an awkward silence. Around them, people were having fun in the lavish first floor of the Tyrells’ mansion; a brief glance at Joffrey’s bothered features confirmed he was as disappointed and bored as she was. _When are we supposed to share Megga’s birthday cake, again?_

Everything seemed fake, from the laughters of the Tyrell girls - which sounded more and more like canned laughter with every passing moment - to the loud waves of electro-pop.

After one last glimpse at Joffrey, Sansa extended her arm to grab her phone and she mindlessly touched the screen before her eyes drifted back to Sandor who was somewhere on her right, with his back against the wall. As he stood in the shadows, his features remained unreadable but she suspected he was brooding. With his dark suit and his hands clasped in front of him, he perfectly played the part of the faithful head of security. His long hair covered his burns, as if the sight of his scars could be an offense to Megga’s guests. All of a sudden he seemed to realize she was staring at him and he returned her gaze. _I need to leave this place and talk to him,_ she thought, her eyes dropping to her lap. Joffrey’s presence next to her was the only thing that prevented her from getting to her feet and go talk to him. Just when she racked her brains to find an excuse, her phone buzzed.

_How was that kiss, little bird?_

The text felt like a stab and her first reaction was to stare at him in shock, even though she knew it could arouse suspicion; then she collected herself and looked down at the screen of her phone. Of course, he was jealous: in his position, he had every reason to be.

_Is it a kiss when someone forces you to play the part of the dutiful girlfriend?_

As he didn’t text back, she added:

_Joffrey’s kisses sicken me. You know it’s you I want to be with, don’t you?_

Closing her eyes, she waited for his reaction. _Please, please… Don’t be mad at me, Sandor._ Her phone buzzed again.

_I want you so bad right now,_ was his answer.

She exhaled deeply. Next to her, Joffrey looked deep in thought, his feigned casualness - elbow resting on the back of the couch and one ankle crossed over his knee - not deceiving anyone, if Megga and Elinor’s sideways looks were any indication. Sansa barely swiveled her head to look at Sandor, whose fingers hovered over the screen of his phone.

_I’m going to tell the little shit I need to check the gardens. Meet me in the garage in 5._

Before she could type her answer, Sandor crossed the room and leaned forward to speak in Joffrey’s ear. Over the loud music, she didn’t hear anything but she saw Joffrey nodding gravely as Sandor stood up straight, dwarfing his employer who still sat slouched on the couch. Then the head of security walked away.

As soon as he left, Sansa gave a look at the screen of her phone. _11:42. I need to find an excuse to leave before 11:47._ Her heart beat faster as she watched small groups drinking, laughing or arguing over the next song they wanted to listen to...

She paused to take a deep breath as she took one last glance at the screen of her phone to check the time. She retrieved her powder compact from her clutch and ostentatiously pouted while looking at her reflection; then, with a sigh, she turned to Joffrey and announced: “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Surprised, the blond boy frowned. “You’re not trying to run away, are you?”

“Someone messed with my makeup,” she countered, “and if any more pictures are to be taken tonight you want me to look good, don’t you?”

Joffrey shrugged and she took it as a yes. Keeping her clutch under her arm, she walked to the door, not without smiling at Margaery and Elinor who were talking to a woman in her forties Sansa identified as one of the Tyrells’ employees. _I’d better come back before they serve Megga’s birthday cake… Or maybe it will give Sandor and I more time._

She hesitated once in the hallway, trying to remember where the garage was. A brief glance over her shoulder confirmed no one followed her and she tiptoed on her high heels - for no reason, really, because the music drowned every other noise. _I feel guilty,_ she mused. _No, not guilty, just afraid of getting-_

One of the Tyrells’ employees, a woman with dirty blond hair, appeared on her left, coming out of the kitchen.

“Are you looking for something, Miss?”

“Actually, yes, I was looking for the bathroom.”

“There’s one over there, on your left.” She smiled at Sansa then hurried to the reception room.

Sansa let out a sigh of relief then resumed her walk. A large hand grabbed her wrist and she lost her balance, almost falling in Sandor’s arms. He had been hiding in a nook in the wall and looked very happy with himself after scaring the hell out of her.

“Are you lost, little bird?” he asked, disguising his amusement with a scowl.

“You said we’d meet in the garage!”

He chuckled at that and raised his shoulders. “Couldn’t wait. I found a place where we shouldn’t be disturbed. Come.”

“Did the woman see you?”

“No chance.”

Her hand in his, he hurried down the hallway, opened a door on their left and pushed Sansa inside before closing the door behind him. The room was dark and smelled of detergent.

Moments later, a harsh light coming from a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed what looked like a laundry room: a brand-new washing machine and a dryer, three laundry baskets and shelves with various bottles of liquid detergent and clothes pins.

“After the broom closet, the utility room,” she observed, scanning the place. “I can see a theme, here.”

Instead of answering, Sandor drew her close and started kissing her. His lips were a little chapped - she had noticed that they often were - but she didn’t really care. His longing for her was so obvious she soon forget the faint smell of detergent and the fading sounds coming from the party. _Kisses taste like this. Nothing to do with those Joff imposed on me._ His embrace made her feel stronger, bolder: opening her mouth for him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was difficult to ignore Sandor’s aroused state when being so close and she soon started to wonder how far she was ready to go in a house filled with people who were either Joffrey’s or Margaery’s friends. There was no point in denying she wanted Sandor as much as she wanted him, yet the worst that could have happened to them when they had sex in the library was to be caught by the staff of the University who had no idea who they were. Here the stakes were higher.

“Did they see you leaving the party?” Sandor rasped, after breaking their kiss.

“I told Joffrey I needed to touch up my make-up. He thinks I’m in one of the bathrooms.”

He sighed, let go of her and made her swivel on her heels so that he was standing behind her. “That doesn’t give us much time, does it?” he whispered in her ear. She shivered. Goosebumps covered her skin the second his hands grabbed her hips. His body flush against hers, he went on: “You know why I hate your dress? No?” His hand left her hip to trace the lace up front of her minidress. “If feels like I can almost touch your breasts but these… things-” he tugged slightly at the lace, “get in my way. And it’s bloody short. You know I have a dirty mind-”

Footsteps in the hallway silenced him. They listened, holding their breath, but nothing happened. Sansa scanned the shelves, looking for something to keep the door shut if someone ever tried to open from the outside; in the end she placed one of the laundry baskets against the door. _Not as efficient as a chair stucked under a doorknob, but it’s better than nothing,_ she reassured herself.

“I should take care of your needs,” Sandor whispered, placing himself behind her again. The way he talked to her sent shivers down her spine and the shivers only increased when his hands returned to her hips, causing the hem of her dress to lift ever so slightly.

“Maybe I should take care of yours,” she retorted, knowing her suggestion would drive him mad.

As expected, a low, reverberating groan rumbled from his throat. “Later... maybe some other time… you need to get back to the party soon.”

Without ever trying to take off her dress, he slid his hands beneath the suede fabric and quickly pulled her panties down. Sansa was already feeling dizzy and only realized she had been leaning against Sandor’s frame when he asked her if she was okay. As his fingers unhurriedly traced her slit she bit her lower lip in anticipation.

“What do you want?” he taunted her.

_I want more. I need more,_ she told herself. _He wants me to say it aloud and to ask for things._ “I want more than that. I want you to take care of my needs.” She hardly recognized her own voice as she acknowledged her longing and her physical desire.  If her cheeks burnt, she didn’t make the slightest effort to stop her head from lolling back the second Sandor inserted a finger inside her.

“Yes,” she said softly. _Just like this. Keep moving and for God’s sake don’t ever stop._ Her body was moving of its own accord now, her hips rocking back and forth against Sandor’s hand until she came. While her palm muffled her moaning, Sandor ducked his head to kiss her temple with the utmost tenderness.

He held her for what seemed a long time in the drowsy, blissful aftermath of her release, then, remembering where she was and what was going on down the hallway, she disentangled herself from his arms and staggered to the washing machine.

“You need to leave, little bird,” she heard him say behind her. _As if I didn’t know it._ After putting her panties on, she turned around, taking in Sandor’s tall frame. He stood there with his shoulders slightly rounded and a noticeable bulge in his pants.

“But you-” Sansa gestured awkwardly.

“I’m supposed to check the backyard of this fucking place. You left ten minutes ago, saying you needed the bathroom. Don’t push your luck, girl. Go back to him.”

Defeated, she let her arm fall back down to her side. The muscles around his mouth twitched somehow and he took a step forward, extending his arm to cup her chin. “Let me check the hallway and make sure nobody sees you.”

On an impulse she placed her hand on his and closed the distance between them to kiss his burned cheek. A smile pulled the corners of his lips and she noticed how his gray eyes shone at that very moment. Sandor’s hand was already on the doorknob; realizing the laundry basket was still there, he put it back in place, then carefully turned the doorknob to peek through the door. Her hand on his shoulder, Sansa relished the last moment with him. She would go back to the party, smile on cue and pretend Megga’s birthday cake was the best she ever had. She would play the part of the perfect girlfriend and leave the party on Joffrey’s arm…

“How interesting.”

She froze. The man who had just spoken wasn’t Sandor. _Joff?_ Overcome by panic, she didn’t resist when Sandor’s arm - the one remaining behind the door and out of Joffrey’s sight - pushed her behind so that she could hide herself.

“What are you doing here, Dog? Why won’t you open the door?”

_Where to hide?_ The laundry room had no window, no other door and the furniture didn’t offer any hiding place. _It’s too late,_ she told herself, _too late._ _Joffrey already knows what he’s going to find behind the door. He’s finally connected the dots._

“Oh my God!” She recognized Margaery’s voice. “Aren’t these-” The girl stammered to show how the whole situation shocked her. “Aren’t those Sansa’s boots? I swear I saw her boots behind _that man_.”

_That man?_ The way the Tyrell girl had uttered these words, full of disdain for someone who didn’t belong to her world, was more than Sansa could take. She walked to the door and forced Sandor to open it wide.

“Sansa, don’t-” Sandor hissed.

Joffrey and Marge weren’t alone in the hallway; in fact, it seemed to her that half the guests were here, witnessing what looked more and more like her and Sandor’s fall. Elinor was even recording the scene on her phone. Seeing so many people here looking accusingly at her would have terrified her former self. It did frighten her and her painted nails dug deep in her palm as she said: “Yes, it’s me, Sansa. And I’m with Sandor Clegane.”

In the commotion that ensued, Marge shook her head in disbelief, then glanced at the others as if she wanted them to bear witness. The murmuring went on until Joffrey silenced everyone by raising his hand; he stepped forward.

“Clegane, you’re fired. As for you,” he pointed a finger at Sansa, “you’re going to regret this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the ride so far, let me know!  
> For those who are interested, you can find more info and some pics of the yoga poses I mentioned on my tumblr: asimplylucia.


	12. The Hero Pose (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘Check my post Paperbag pants in Positano on my blog, link in bio,’_ Marge invited her followers.
> 
> His fingers hovering over said link, Tommen gave Sansa a wicked look. She nodded wordlessly. 
> 
> “‘Paperbag pants in Positano’. Try to repeat ‘Paperbag pants in Positano’ twenty times, as fast as you can,” the boy challenged her.
> 
> “The alliteration is mandatory for a good title,” she answered.
> 
> He snorted at her professorial tone but Margaery’s outfit quickly drew his attention again. Cinched at the waist by a tie, her pants seemed to intrigue Tommen. “Are these pants supposed to be elegant? All this fabric poking out of the belt... They’re not flattering. And why doesn’t she smile? One could think she just paid her taxes or something. I always thought Marge was a smiley person.”
> 
> “She is, in real life. But… this is not real life, Tommen. Instagram is full of sulky girls these days. And this damn wicker basket… Someone should create an Instagram drinking game with wicker baskets and furry slides.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter edited by the fantastic LadyCyprus: thank you so much, this story wouldn't be the same without you!
> 
> This is the final chapter of this fic. I planned to update yesterday but when I came back home last night there was no Internet... I'm posting this from work and I feel very bad about it!
> 
> If Margaery Tyrell is one of your favorite characters in ASoIaF, you will probably not like this. Show!Margaery is one of the characters that exasperate me the most and she made me forget about Book!Margaery - who’s rather different, in my opinion. Now, when Margaery appears in one of my fics, she’s never shown in a favorable light.  
> That being said, if you like Ser Pounce, SanSan, prank calls and if you secretly mock the ridiculous fashion trends that emerge season after season, you’ll probably enjoy the ride...

Silence. A deep, dreary silence filled her life since the night at the Tyrells’. Megga’s birthday party had taken place only two days ago but her life before Boros Blount shoved her inside a dark SUV and drove her back to the Lannisters’ mansion and to her room - her cell for now - seemed like a distant memory. Once stylish and filled with items she cherished, the bedroom had lost the laptop sitting on the desk and the old radio set; it  had been emptied of its upright piano and of the comfy armchair she used to read in. Sansa sighed: as of now it almost looked spartan. Of course, the first thing Joffrey had taken away from her had been her cellphone: he had taken it the moment she had stepped out of the laundry room. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she let her eyes move from the desk to the empty spot left by the piano and then to the shelf. Her books remained, but for how long?

A perfunctory knock at the door, the clicking sound of a key in the lock and Joffrey was in before she could invite him to come in - or to stay away from her, in this case. As he scanned the bedroom, the distinctive upward tug at the corner of his mouth confirmed he took a perverse pleasure in seeing the result of the belated spring-cleaning he had ordered.

“What’s up, Sansa?” he finally said, turning to her, hands folded behind his back.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, struggling with the impression her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her. She shrugged at his question, then asked tentatively: “Are you going to give me my phone back?”

Joffrey’s reaction, something between a head-shaking and an eyeroll, made her fingers curl into fists on the satiny fabric of the bedspread. “My laptop then?” she tried again, doing her best to remain calm.

This time the blond young man burst out laughing and something in her snapped.

“So what? I can’t go on Instagram? I can’t check out Margaery’s vacation looks? She said this fancy cosmetics brand invited her to spend the week in Positano, it’s a big deal!”

Joffrey’s mouth dangled open. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Her pleading eyes were fooling him, she knew it and it gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. Despite the fear that never completely disappeared when Joff was around, she nearly suppressed a smile. _Think, Joffrey. Of course I’m pulling your leg._

His eyes narrowed more and more until they became slits that hardly showed his green irises. “You’re such a crazy bitch, sometimes.”

Her heart beat faster as she racked her brains to find the proper answer to his insult, then she said: “A bitch, really? You’ve become such an expert in bitches lately… You mean more the manipulative type of bitch, like Marge or the thick-as-a-brick type, like Megga?”

The next second he was leaning over her, his face distorted by rage. She made a point of not recoiling and she stayed there, listening to his heavy breathing, boring into his eyes.

“I fired _him_ , you know,” he spat.

Needless to explain who he was talking about: the mere evocation of Sandor’s firing incensed her. She nevertheless didn’t move. “Joffrey dear, I know you did. It’s hardly a surprise. You said you would fire him the moment you saw us together.”

His face was still inches of hers, as if he was ready to bite, and if what she read in his eyes was true he was searching his mind, eager to find a way to hurt her. “He left, with his tail between his legs, poor Dog. He won’t come back for you.”

His words were met with defiance. _We’ll see about that, Joff._ His silence about her ruined academic pursuits told her he had not followed through with his threats. _Not yet anyway._ Sansa imagined he would tell her she was persona non grata in the campus right after finishing his telephone call to the dean.

All of a sudden he turned around and walked to the door.

“Already leaving?” she teased.

Joffrey glared at her over his shoulder and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Apart from Gina, the maid who brought Sansa’s food on a tray but who had been told not to answer the girl’s questions, Joffrey had been the only person to visit her until the afternoon of the third day.

 Everything was so quiet in the house she could easily picture herself on a desert island, far from civilization when she closed her eyes. There she was, lying on her bed, her eyes closed and her open book resting on her tummy when someone knocked at the French doors. She instantly sat up. Had Joffrey forgotten he had personally locked the doors so that she couldn’t escape by the patio? The second she glanced at the French doors, she saw _him_. The only person who could compete with Joff in terms of creepiness: Petyr Baelish.

At the beginning of her story with Joffrey, the man seemed to constantly run into her. In fact those encounters were a little too frequent to be fortuitous. The way he stared at Sansa, the things he said about her mother Catelyn and how _close_ they used to be in their youth had heightened her unease when he was around: Baelish, with his inquisitive gray-green eyes, was #1 on her ‘Creepy guys’ list.

Sansa gingerly walked toward Baelish who unsuccessfully tried to open the French doors. The double glazing muffled his curse. With a sigh, he looked at her intently.

“I’m locked up,” she mouthed. For a split second, she wondered if she would have opened that door to him anyway.

Baelish didn’t give up though. Something on his left drew his attention and he gestured, pointing alternatively at Sansa and towards the left until she understood what he had in mind. _The bathroom window. Of course._

The bathroom adjoining Sansa’s bedroom had a rather small window Joffrey didn’t need to lock. The windows overlooking the patio all had fancy wrought-iron grills. There was no way she could sneak out through them.

“Sansa?”

She had left the window ajar and now she could hear Baelish’s voice calling from the outside. Sansa dragged her bare feet to the bathroom and plastered a timid smile on her face. “Hey.”

“Oh Sansa, I came as soon as I heard the news. Joffrey didn’t want me to find out, but I have my own sources. Are you OK?” His doleful tone would have made her laugh in different circumstances.

“I’m OK. Just locked up here and-”

“This is why I came here. Let me help you out!”

Baelish coming to her rescue? Her smile vanished. _What does he want in exchange? Baelish doesn’t help people out of kindness._

“Look… I appreciate your offer, really…”

“However?” he asked, sensing her hesitation.

She didn’t trust him, but was it wise to reject his proposition? Maybe no one else would show up to take her out of the Lannister’s house. _What do you want? Rotting in this room or getting out of here, even with someone who gives you the creeps?_ Behind Baelish, Sansa saw the shimmering surface of the pool, the cacti on the side and the eavestrough of the other wing of the house, with its CCTV camera.

“However... as we are speaking, this security guy Joff hired already knows you’re on the patio and he will be here in a minute.” Baelish gaped. “Smile, you’re on camera,” she added.

Grabbing the wrought-iron bars, Baelish cursed. “But y- But you, Sansa, what are you going to do? You can’t stay locked up here forever!”

She shrugged. “Joffrey must have a plan for me. He always has a plan. Go, now. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

Baelish swiveled his head to the left, startled. From where she was Sansa couldn’t see whoever had come in his range of vision but she knew it had to be Boros Blount.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She recognized Blount’s booming voice before seeing his short fat hand seizing Baelish’s collar. “You’re trespassing on a private property.”

“Let go of me!” Baelish whined.

Soon enough, Blount’s face appeared in the window frame. “And you!” he barked, pointing at Sansa. “What were you doing? You’re the one who invited him here!”

“How could I _invite_ anyone? Joffrey took my phone! Mr Baelish showed here _uninvited_.”

Baelish’s eyes narrowed. _Oh, did I hurt your feelings?_ Cursing and ranting about intruders, Boros Blount dragged Baelish out of her sight.

“I’ll be back, Sansa!” she heard Baelish say. For some reason she doubted he could keep his promise.

This incident gave her pause. Baelish had tried to help her and he had been caught easily. Sandor knew the Lannister’s security system inside and out but Joff expected him to show up and it made a tremendous difference. And Sandor, unlike Petyr Baelish, would resist if Blount tried to catch him. _This is how people get killed_ , she somberly told herself.

* * *

There was no perfunctory knock at the door this time, just the rattling of keys breaking the silence before a blond boy carefully closed the door behind him. 

“Tommen!”

A red flush was creeping into the boy’s round cheeks as he shushed her with a forefinger to his lips. He observed the now austere bedroom then, wiping his hands on his jeans. He closed the distance between them, sat on the edge of the bed and gave her an awkward hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Sansa whispered against his shoulder. He smelled of brioche.

“I wanted to come and visit you earlier but there was always someone around… Joff would kill me if he knew I talked to you, but… I was worried.”

She broke their embrace and gave him a long look. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to-”

Tommen cut her off: “They’re all out. I even sent the Gina to the mall, just to be sure.” He paused, then placed his hands on Sansa’s shoulders in a somewhat theatrical gesture. “ _We_ have a plan, Sans.”

_We?_ “You mean you and Sandor?”

The boy shook his head. “Well, I have been texting back and forth with Sandor but he won’t play a part in all this. He’s doing well, he’s waiting for you somewhere on the coast. When I say _‘we’_ , I mean my uncle and myself.”

Sansa’s eyes opened widely. “Jaime?”

“Nope. Tyrion. Uncle Tyrion wants to help you.”

Suddenly memories washed over her as her eyes fell to her lap: Tyrion being publicly humiliated by Cersei shortly after she had met the Lannisters, Tyrion’s tart remarks about his sister and finally the last argument she had overheard between them a couple of weeks earlier. He had gone so far as to threaten Cersei. Sansa didn’t think Tyrion Lannister was the kind of man who used idle threats. _He meant every word when he said she’d be sorry._

She looked up at Tommen. “Do you know _why_ he wants to help me?”

“Of course I do! Uncle Tyrion wants to play a dirty trick on Mom.” Another pause. “I can’t really blame him,” he added under his breath.

_This is dangerous,_ she couldn’t help thinking. _Tyrion is old enough to take care of himself but it could be dangerous for Tommen. And if they fail, I’m... what? Dead meat?_

“Are you sure-” she began.

Tommen nodded vehemently. “We’ll get you out of here. Do I need to pinky swear?”

As he uttered these words, the curious way he knitted his eyebrows reminded her of Jaime Lannister’s facial expression when he was teasing someone and she cracked a smile.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“First, we need to make sure that Joffrey doesn’t ruin your chances to get a degree. I’m already working on it. Then we’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here _with_ your parents’ money.”

_And how are you going to do this?_ He must have noticed the hint of skepticism in her eyes, for he added: “Trust Uncle Tyrion. And trust me too. We can do it.”

“How?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled. “Now I’d like to know what you told Joffrey to piss him off last night. He wouldn’t tell.” He nudged her.

“I asked if I could have my phone back and said I needed it to see Margaery’s pics on Instagram. I think that for a split second he believed me.”

Tommen chuckled. “He’s so gullible sometimes… But is it true? Do you want to take a look at her Instagram?”

“Maybe, if I can send a message to Sandor first.”

He handed her his phone and she started typing frenetically. There were so many things she wanted to tell Sandor right now, but she knew her message had to be succinct. Sandor needed to know she was OK and that she loved him more than ever; the rest was superfluous. She finally hit the icon ‘send’ with a sigh and looked up at Tommen.

“Do you really want to see Margaery Tyrell’s Instagram?” he asked, feigning seriousness. Maybe Tommen sensed what she needed right now, to keep faith in what he called their plan, was some light, futile occupation.

“Hell, yes!”

Now sitting on the edge of the bed to be closer, she saw him clicking on the Instagram icon, then typing Margaery’s name in the search box.

“Her pseud is ‘Rose of High Garden’,” Sansa told him.

“Rooose of High Garden,” Tommen repeated, typing. The way he emphasized the first part of Margaery’s pseud elicited a giggle. “Here she is…”

A perfect example of the picture shared by a traveling fashion blogger, the first image showed Margaery striking a pose as if she was at the end of an invisible catwalk; behind her, the very photogenic city of Positano, with its colored houses clinging to the steep slopes of the Amalfi Coast, was barely visible. The author’s comment below read: _‘In love with Positano’s breathtaking landscape’._ A bunch of hearts and smileys followed.

“If it’s so damn breathtaking, why don’t you move aside?” Tommen asked, as if addressing the blogger herself.

Another picture, another pose, in some narrow street of the Italian town this time. A pouty Margaery wore a frilly off-the-shoulder top with some brown wide-legged pants and a wicker basket. ‘ _Check my post_ Paperbag pants in Positano _on my blog, link in bio,’_ Marge invited her followers.

His fingers hovering over said link, Tommen gave Sansa a wicked look. She nodded wordlessly.

“ _‘Paperbag pants in Positano’_ . Try to repeat _‘Paperbag pants in Positano’_ twenty times, as fast as you can,” the boy challenged her.

“The alliteration is mandatory for a good title,” she answered.

He snorted at her professorial tone but Margaery’s outfit quickly drew his attention again. Cinched at the waist by a tie, her pants seemed to intrigue Tommen. “Are these pants supposed to be elegant? All this fabric poking out of the belt... They’re not flattering. And why doesn’t she smile? One could think she just paid her taxes or something. I always thought Marge was a smiley person.”

“She is, in real life. But… this is not real life, Tommen. Instagram is full of sulky girls these days. And this damn wicker basket… Someone should create an Instagram drinking game with wicker baskets and furry slides.”

Tommen looked at her. “What’s the matter with wicker baskets? I’ve seen these everywhere. Are they even practical?”

She sighed. “Absolutely not. They’re trendy, that’s all.”

“My sister Myrcella used to have a wicker basket. She was seven and she carried her doll’s tea set inside.”

The mere mention of his sister’s name brought back happy memories of endless conversations with the blond-haired girl about their future. “How is Myrcella by the way? Did you hear from her lately?” she inquired.

“Hmm- mmh.” The boy nodded.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly at his hesitation. On an impulse, she asked: “Is Myrcella taking part in your- your plan?”

“I can’t tell you anything for now. The less you know, the better.” Tommen had this solemn expression on his face again and she understood the moment was over. _Like a soap bubble shattered by a touch._

The boy stood up, walked to the French doors and tried to open them.

“Do you think Joff is stupid enough not to close the doors leading to the patio, Tommen?”

Frustration washed over his face, then he said: “The bathroom window will have to do.”

“Have you forgotten the wrought-iron bars? For your information, I skipped the contortion class.”

Tommen smiled. “I’m not dumb. It’s not for you, it’s for Ser Pounce. He’ll carry our messages. Maybe with some chocolate bars.” He briefly glanced at his phone screen - to check what time it was, most likely - and before she could utter some response, he briefly squeezed her shoulder and left the bedroom.

* * *

Long after dusk the bathroom window remained open so that Ser Pounce could deliver any message from Tommen. The summer heat and the chirping of cicadas seeped in through the open window - the otherwise soothing noise unnerving her that night. Ser Pounce’s reputation as a heavy sleeper and a glutton was established long ago but the black cat had never struck her as the heroic type. He was just a cat who gave humans a jaded look and who did exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.

It was almost 10 PM when the automated sensor lighting illuminated the patio; light rippled at the surface of the infinite pool and cast shadows on the white granite decking, warning Sansa someone was coming her way. She slapped her book shut, heard the muffled sound of footsteps - as if someone walked barefoot on the granite - then whispers and a distinctive yowling. Whatever was happening rubbed Ser Pounce the wrong way.

In her eagerness to welcome the reluctant messenger, she didn’t turn on the light of the bathroom when she came in and she stood by the window, her hands open. Tommen seemed to be shoving the cat through the wrought-iron bars and inside the bathroom.

“Come on Ser Pounce,” the boy cooed. “Be a good boy...”

“I’ve got him,” Sansa answered, ignoring the cat’s protestations as she took him in her arms. In the dark, she felt Ser Pounce’s soft fur under her fingers and further, on his back, the roughness of synthetic fibers. There were several long _things_ hanging from the faux fur, like tentacles. _What did Tommen do to this poor cat?_

Before she had a chance to ask him, Tommen left. Puzzled, she carried Ser Pounce out of the bathroom and suppressed a gasp when her eyes fell on the costume the cat was wearing: against his will most likely, Ser Pounce had slipped into his last Halloween costume, a cheap, black furry thing with long legs that made him look like a giant spider. _A black costume on a green-eyed black cat always hits its mark._

The cat let Sansa undo the velcro straps of the costume and even nuzzled into her palm in gratitude. A brief squeeze at the oval shape that represented the spider’s abdomen confirmed there was something hidden there, in the lining. It seemed that Tommen had partially unstitched the underside of the costume to put there a note and a chocolate bar - dark chocolate with candied lemon peel, Sansa’s favorite.

Sansa unfolded the note and began to read, absentmindedly stroking Ser Pounce’s head.

_‘Hi Sansa,_

_Sandor asked me to tell you he’s doing well and thinks a lot about you. He also said something about a broom cupboard and the day he met you at the campus library but I don’t understand what he was referring to…’_

The last bit made her tsk-tsk. _The broom cupboard. Of course Sandor had to bring this up._ The memory of that day made her mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t, given her situation.

_‘First things first: I overheard Joffrey’s conversation with my mother earlier. He said he couldn’t reach the dean so far because the man was on some trip. Anyway the dean will be back tomorrow and Joffrey will call him to kick you out of the campus. Things are getting serious tomorrow._

_I’ve found a way to thwart Joffrey’s plan concerning your studies but it means you’ll need to go to another campus. Hope you won’t curse me for sending you - and Sandor - far from here. Tyrion oversees the second part of the plan and you have a role to play in it._

_We need you to help me create a diversion while Tyrion steals documents from my mother…’_

More instructions ensued: Sansa read them carefully, then stared into space for a minute or two. Her pulse was racing as she glanced at her watch. _10:07._ If Tommen was right, she could be free tomorrow night, at the same time. The news were both exhilarating and stressful. _Because if we fail… All it takes is a minor glitch._ Her eyes drifted back to Tommen’s note.

_‘If you read this note and agree with our plan, please keep the note and the chocolate bar and put this hideous spider costume back on Ser Pounce before releasing him.’_

She sighed, shove the note in her jeans back pocket and she got on her feet, carrying the spider costume to her bed where Ser Pounce was curled up.

“Sorry buddy, you need to put this on,” Sansa said.

Her apologetic tone didn’t move Ser Pounce who snobbishly turned his head.

She had to coax an indignant Ser Pounce back into the furry spider costume and to fix the straps under his belly. When it was all done, she took the cat back to the bathroom window. Ser Pounce needed to be persuaded - again - to go through the wrought-iron bars and outside but in the end, when the electric light splashed the pool and its surroundings, she saw a giant, fuzzy spider scampering across the patio.

* * *

Gina was always on time - a cardinal virtue for the Lannisters’ employees - so as the hour hand moved closer to the 7 on the next evening, Sansa knew she needed to get ready.

In order to forget the knot in her stomach, she turned her thoughts to Sandor. Tommen had given her very little information about his whereabouts: he was safe, somewhere on the coast and Sansa guessed he was champing at the bit, wondering how Tyrion and Tommen intended to get her out of the Lannister’s house and if they could succeed.

What did he do? In his job - _his previous job_ , Sansa corrected herself - there were long hours waiting for Joffrey who attended some event and the time spent watching the CCTV footage was nothing but exciting. Would he tolerate forced inactivity though? Idleness combined with worry was an explosive mixture.

A knock at the door, followed by Gina’s contralto voice. “Your dinner, Miss Sansa!” The keys rattled and the door hinges gave a faint squeak. Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see Gina’s petite frame in the doorway but she did hear the tray falling to the floor and the woman’s scream. “Help! Something happened to Miss Sansa!”

_Poor Gina. I’ll have to apologize to you when all this is over._ Following Tommen’s recommandations, Sansa lied on the floor of her bedroom, eyes closed and if she was right, Gina was currently wondering whether the girl had lost consciousness or if she was dead. Sansa felt Gina’s knees brushing her ribcage as the woman kneeled by her side, muttering something akin to a prayer. Gina cupped her face, called again for help and when she grabbed Sansa’s hand to take her pulse, Sansa lightly squeezed her fingers. _She’s a good person: I don’t want to scare the shit out of-_

“What the hell…”

“What happened?”

“Is she dead?”

Three different voices coming from the hallway and as many witnesses stepping in. First, Tommen, then Tyrion panting behind him. The last question was Cersei’s and was uttered with an eerie sense of detachment. Her eyes still closed, Sansa felt at least two more people leaning over her lying form.

“Did she take some pills? Tried to kill herself?” Cersei asked, as cold as ever.

“Is it what you wish for her, Mom?” Tommen snapped. “You’d like to see her desperate? What- What would you do if she was dead?”

Cersei let out a deep sigh. Someone was tapping gently at Sansa’s cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Tommen,” Tyrion said. “Your mother is very well-organized. She started thinking of a spot to bury this poor girl the second she saw her lying on the floor.”

“Hey, could you give us some space?” Tommen said. “Unlike you, I have my first aid certificate. Gina, can you bring me a glass of water? And could someone call Pycelle?”

“I’ll do it,” Tyrion answered.

Sansa felt people moving around her body, crossing the room, then walking away. Hurried footsteps in the hallway, then the uneven breathing of someone above her... She thought she was alone with Tommen until she heard Cersei’s voice: “So, what do you think, Tommen?”

_So she’s still here._ Her muscles tensed. Someone lifted her feet and propped them against a cushion.

“Could be anything,” Tommen said. “Pycelle will tell us. Sansa? Can you hear me? Hey, Sansa?”

Should she open her eyes now? She’d rather not see Cersei’s face. For some reason she thought it would be much harder to play her part under the blond woman’s scrutiny.

“Mom! Could you please put down your glass of wine and help me?”

“You should have asked Gina to fetch a bucket of water. A bucket of water is all this girl needs.”

“Frankly, Mom... It could be serious. Is Sansa prone to fainting fits?”

“As if I knew or was interested in her medical records! I don’t think I ever saw her fainting.”

“Does she eat her food? Maybe Gina noticed something…”

“What? Do you think Sansa could have started a hunger strike of sorts? She doesn’t have the will. Even if she started a hunger strike… Put some lemon cake on her tray and she’ll give in. It’s not a hunger strike. Gina would have told me. I think.”

Tommen cursed under his breath. Mere seconds later, Gina came back with a glass of water and instead of asking Cersei if she could do anything, she addressed Tommen. In other circumstances Sansa would have found the situation rather funny.

“Oh, and Mr. Tyrion told me Doctor Pycelle was on his way,” Gina added.

“The old fogey! Great!” Cersei said.

Sansa imagined Cersei taking another sip of wine after her acerbic comment. Gina walked away and Tyrion didn’t come back. _Where is he now? Is he doing it?_

“Where’s my brother? Gina!” Cersei called. “Gina, did you see him?”

Her heels clicked on the hallway marble tiles and Sansa seized the opportunity to open her eyes. Kneeling beside her, Tommen smiled at her. “Don’t worry, it runs like clockwork. We just need to keep my mother busy for a little while,” he whispered.

“Should I keep pretending-”

“No, it’s OK.” He paused, swallowed hard and said, much louder: “Mom, she came around!”

The heels clicked again and Cersei appeared in the doorframe. Was she relieved to see Sansa conscious? It was hard to tell.

“Can you believe Tyrion left, just like that?” she said, sitting on Sansa’s bed then crossing her legs. “Gina told me he called the old fart and just disappeared.”

“Pycelle will be here soon. And you should stay here, Mom, because he will ask questions on Sansa’s health and you’re in the best position to answer.”

“She can talk!” Cersei retorted, one of her feet bobbing up and down.

“I’m not feeling so well,” Sansa said.

A couple of minutes later, Pycelle arrived, bringing with him a stale smell and carrying a crammed full doctor bag. He asked Cersei many questions, preventing her from leaving the room, and eliciting more and more annoyed answers as he did so. _Does he have a part to play in Tommen’s plan?_ Sansa mused. At some point he even addressed her what she thought was a knowing smile. _Tyrion paid him._ Now she was almost certain.

“This girl needs to undergo a medical examination,” Pycelle informed Cersei.

“Yes, that’s why we called you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand, dear. She needs to go to the ER and quickly. She doesn’t remember how she fell! CAT Scanner is what she needs - at the very least.”

“Impossible ! She’ll have to wait until tomorrow!” Cersei said. “I have important phone calls to make tonight. Blount is in town with my father, Joffrey is God knows where...”

“Look Cersei, I can drop her there and tell them what happened, if you can’t go to the hospital yourself.” With that, Pycelle stroked his beard.

Sansa’s heart skipped a bit. _So what’s the plan? I leave the house with Pycelle and he takes me to the place where Sandor is?_ Trembling, she tried to make eye contact with Tommen, who was too focused on his mother’s impending response to pay attention.

Cersei shot the old doctor a suspicious look. “When did you become so obliging? Are you trying to stay alone with the girl to fondle her?”

Pycelle’s eyes widened in protestation. He, taking advantage of Sansa’s weakness to fondle her? Unlike Qyburn whom he suspected of the worst crimes, he didn’t take the Hippocratic Oath lightly; he’d never lower himself by groping sick or unconscious girls and whatever Cersei implied about his relationship with his young secretary was a complete and utter fabrication. At the end of his tirade, Pycelle’s chest heaved as if he had put on a sprint.

“If anything happens…” Cersei began, glaring at Pycelle, “... I’ll get you back.”

Sansa watched as Tommen and Gina stuffed a bag with toiletries and pajamas, then Pycelle offered her his arm. They left her room, shuffled down the hallway to the front door and before she knew it, Sansa trod upon the gravel; it’s crunching sound was the most pleasant she had heard in a long time. Leaning against the doorcase, Tommen was staring at her as she got in Pycelle’s sedan.

_Will I see him again? What will happen to him when Cersei and Joffrey find out he helped me?_

When Pycelle started up the engine and switched on the headlights, Tommen smiled at her - not like someone who expects a thank you for the help they provided but like someone who was genuinely happy for her. Her heart sank. _I’ll miss him._

The car slowly moved down the driveway, gravel scrunching beneath its tires. Pycelle squinted at his surroundings before turning left. The car seemed to crawl up the road and Sansa told herself she was lucky not to actually need a ride to the hospital: with a Sunday driver like Pycelle, she would be D.O.A.

Maybe one mile further, the old man slowed down and pulled in at the bottom of a billboard.

“I think it was here,” he said. Sansa didn’t know if he addressed her or if the old man was talking to himself. “Tyrion said-”

Someone flashed their lights at them and a silver car pulled in next to theirs. Much to Sansa’s relief, Tyrion stepped out of it. Following Pycelle’s example, Sansa got out of the car.

“I kept my promise,” Pycelle said, pointing at Sansa. “It’s time to keep yours. Where is the tape?” The old man quavered, even more than usual.

“You’ll have the tape the second my niece picks Sansa and her beau at Sunspear airport. Myrcella insisted on this.”

_The tape?_ Shouldering her bag, Sansa looked at them alternatively, wondering what was at stake, apart from her safety. Tyrion’s smug smile proved, if need be, that he had the upper hand. He motioned Sansa toward him then, with an incline of his head, he beckoned her to get in the silver car.

“But you promised-” Pycelle sputtered.

Tyrion shrugged, and without even looking at the doctor, he get back in his car and started up the engine.

The drive to the airport was short, yet Sansa’s anxiety crept over her. What if Cersei or Joffrey called the hospital to make sure she was there? What if Pycelle betrayed them?

After a long silence she took a sharp intake of breath, then asked: “What was this all about, with Pycelle?”

Looking ahead on the road, Tyrion didn’t answer immediately. “It was about a tape,” he finally said. “As in ‘sextape’.”

Sansa gasped.

“Can you believe the old man shot himself playing doctor with his secretary?” Tyrion went on. “Well, he _tried_ to record the act but the angle is terrible so it’s basically a four-minute video showing the legs of an examination table with Pycelle’s huffing and puffing in the background. No big deal, but Pycelle freaked out when I got my hands on it. Trust me, he won’t say a word until I hand the tape over to him.”

She asked again: “Where’s Sandor?”

“Your beloved is waiting for you at the airport. From there, you’ll fly south and Myrcella will welcome you and take you to your new home in Sunspear.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for what you did, Tyrion.”

“My pleasure. When it comes to pissing my sister, it’s always a pleasure.”

* * *

Never did she think that airport terminals, with their public address system and their mile-long rows of seats upholstered in faux leather, could be romantic places.

Since Megga’s birthday party, Sansa had had more than enough time to imagine what her reunion with Sandor would be like. She had dreamed he was coming back for her, rescuing her from Joffrey; she had imagined herself escaping alone - but how? - then surprising him wherever he was waiting for her. She never envisioned they would simply meet in the terminal of the airport.

Yet there he was, standing taller than anyone in the crowd, and the second their eyes met he squeezed through the crowd and closed the distance between them. She dropped her bag and the next second she was in his arms, oblivious of the nerve-wracking past hours. His smell and the warmth emanating from his body were all that mattered now. Holding her tight he mumbled things that hardly made sense to her until Tyrion cleared his throat and reminded them they couldn’t miss their flight.

Her hand in Sandor’s she followed Tyrion’s instructions, clutched to the plane ticket he gave her. He also handed out to her the passport Cersei had confiscated a while ago and finally gave her the heavy-looking satchel he had been carrying since the airport parking lot.

“Inside this bag you’ll find all the documentation I was able to steal from my sister’s office earlier tonight. Stuff about your parents’ assets and how my father and sister got to control them. There’s some cash in here, too. Enough to make a fresh start.”

Words seemed to be stuck in her throat but she finally managed to ask: “How can I ever repay you?”

“I’m probably repeating myself here but the defeated look on my sister’s face is the best reward one could think of.” He paused, then looked down at his watch. “You should go now. Hug Myrcella for me.”

That was it. Sandor insisted to take her bag and his carry-on, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and when she glanced back, Tyrion was staring at them. When she waved at him, he simply waved back and waddled away.

* * *

A two-hour flight was hardly long enough to tell Sandor all the things she wanted to tell him, like how badly she had missed him during their separation or what had happened since the party. If she did most of the talking, Sandor nevertheless told her he had been staying in a motel room on the coast for the last couple of days, worried sick, and pouncing on his cell phone whenever he received a message from Tommen or Tyrion.

“I did some yoga too, you know,” he confessed, looking through the window.

She searched his eyes, but he stubbornly stared at the dark oval of the window, although there was nothing remarkable outside, in the dead of night.

“Did you?” she asked.

He nodded. “It helps when my mind is racing. Must be fucking silly but it felt like it was a way to be with you when I couldn’t.”

“It doesn’t sound silly to me.” She squeezed his hand.

“I felt bad. I still feel bad, little bird, because you were locked up and I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to be the hero who rescued you and in the end I just waited until a dwarf, a high-school boy and a college girl saved you.” He let out a deep sigh.

“You forgot Ser Pounce who brought me Tommen’s messages and Pycelle who gave me a ride,” she said cheerfully. “Tyrion blackmailed him, but I guess it still counts.”

A ghost of a smile began to form on his lips, twisting the scars at the corner of his mouth.

_Who believes in heroes, nowadays?_ Mordane had asked them the last time Sansa had been to the yoga studio. They were doing the hero pose and as she often did, their yoga teacher had digressed, talking about their responsibility for their own happiness in the practice.

“I was on the shelf. Not quite what I imagined,” Sandor went on.

“You don’t have to play the hero, Sandor. My feelings for you won’t change because of what you did or didn’t do. It’s called love.”

His gray eyes shone and for a heartbeat, she wondered if he wasn’t tearing up. He drew her close and buried his nose in her hair.

* * *

“Myrcella will take us to some apartment or hotel room, I’ll close the door and 15 seconds later you’ll be naked on the bed. You know you will, little bird.”

Sandor’s words had been unequivocal during the descent to the airport. Then the plane had landed and he had taken advantage of the never-ending queue of passengers eager to get off the plane to stay behind her, his body flush against hers, one hand resting on her hip. He also claimed a kiss or two, ignoring the passengers’ stare.

Fifteen minutes later, inside the building of the airport, they spotted a tall blonde girl who started gesticulating when she saw them. _Myrcella’s stay in the South turned out well for her,_ she mused. They made their way through the crowd; she beamed at them and hugged Sansa.

“It’s been too long!” Myrcella exclaimed, then she reluctantly broke their embrace. “I was so relieved when Tommen said you had finally broken up with Joff… And look at you, Sandor!” She hugged him too. “Looks like my girl Sansa taught you how to smile.”

Sansa didn’t remember Myrcella was such a chatterbox before she moved. Holding Sandor’s hand she followed the blond-haired girl to the parking lot where they piled their luggage in the trunk and got inside.

“So you and I are going to study in the same university,” Myrcella told Sansa once they were on the highway. “No consequences on your GPA.”

“Who should I thank for this miracle?” Sansa asked. She was in the passenger seat, while Sandor followed their exchange from the back of the car. In the periphery of her vision, she saw him leaning forward to hear Myrcella’s answer.

“It’s not a miracle,” Myrcella said, keeping her eyes on the road but smiling all the same. “It sounds more like a prank call, to be honest.”

“Who was the trickster, then?”

“I was. I made the phone call.” A silence followed Myrcella’s revelation. “Tommen kept me updated on a regular basis and he was wondering how he could convince the dean of your former university not to comply with Joffrey’s demands. At some point, I told him the only way to save your GPA was not to prevent Joffrey from calling him but to convince the dean to undo what he had just done. My mother was the only person the dean would be eager to please even if it meant being on bad terms with Joff and as it turns out, I have almost the same voice as my mom.”

Myrcella briefly turned to Sansa and suppressed a chuckle. “Quit gaping, Sansa, or else you’ll swallow a fly… Anyway, I called the dean shortly after Joffrey told him to charge you with cheating, I gave him my best rendition of ‘flirting Cersei Lannister’, I said it was an awful misunderstanding and I invited him to have dinner at the mansion on Saturday night.”

“Best prank call ever,” Sandor commented. “You can be proud of yourself, kiddo.”

Myrcella met his eyes in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “I knew you would like it! I wish I could be there when the dean rings at the door though. Tommen said he would tell me everything but it’s not the same…”

Sansa pictured Cersei’s face when she would see the dean with a bunch of red roses and she burst out laughing. She thanked Myrcella profusely and there was a lull in the conversation until Myrcella started talking about her new life in Sunspear. She was getting used to her new environment, she said; the food was amazing and the locals were friendly.

“... and have you ever heard of the Water Gardens? We have pool parties there. I met my friend Arianne there, and I also met Trystane.”

Sansa noticed a change in the girl’s voice when she mentioned the mysterious Trystane. In the dark passenger compartment it was hard to tell, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Myrcella blushed the next time she’d broach the topic. _There’s something interesting going on…_

“Here we are,” Myrcella said as the car made a right and moved into a parking lot. “Don’t expect anything fancy: it’s just a regular furnished apartment so that you can lay down your hat until you find a place you really like.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” Sandor replied.

The condominium on their right seemed pretty low-key, under the streetlights. The long, eventful evening had taken its toll on them: they got off the car slowly, retrieved the luggage from the trunk and headed to the building.

“Since my brother took your phone, Sansa, here’s a new one.” Myrcella explained as they climbed the stairs. “I took the liberty of adding my phone number to your contacts. And… welcome to your new abode!” She gestured at a door. “Here are the keys. You two must be exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow to give you a tour of Sunspear. And of the campus, of course.”

They hugged Myrcella, thanked her again and they watched her walk away, her curly blond hair bouncing as she raced down the stairs. The butterflies in her belly reminded Sansa a new chapter of her life was about to begin: she was with Sandor and she didn’t need to pretend otherwise, she had escaped the Lannisters’ mansion and was now safe, in a city she longed to explore. She’d miss Tommen: it was a given. There had been a shortage of true friends around her, since Jeyne Poole had left, but her reunion with Myrcella had given Sansa the impression things were as if they had never stopped seeing each other. Everything seemed easy with Myrcella.

“Little bird.” Sandor’s voice roused her from her thoughts. “Don’t you want to see this apartment?” With that he planted a kiss on her temple and rested his hand on her hip.

The keys were in her hand. She nodded and opened, giving the door a push and feeling around to find the light switch. _Here it is._

“Very well.” Sandor’s hand traveled up to brush the underside of her breast. “How much time do I need to have you naked on the bed, once the door is closed?”

Sansa swiveled her head, welcoming a trail of kisses down her neck. “You said 15 seconds.” A smile pulled the corners of her lips. “I say 17 seconds.”

She turned around to face him. In the dim light provided by the wall lamp, Sandor knitted his brows and his confused look made her chuckle.

“Why the hell 17?” he asked.

She bit her lower lip, cupped his face with one hand and traced the outline of his chin with the pad of her thumb. “Be nice, Sandor,” she said, disguising her smile with a pout. “Fifteen seconds to find the bed and take off my clothes. But you can grant me two more seconds if I do a nice puppy pose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now complete and I'm amazed a fic about Sandor doing yoga received so many positive reactions. Thank YOU for reading, leaving kudos and commenting: it means a lot to me.
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this story, let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, let me know!


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